


Stories of Thedas

by alexxwritesfic



Series: Stories of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Agender Character, Character Death, F/M, Grey Wardens, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mabari, Nightmares, Orlais (Dragon Age), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religion, Skyhold (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 22,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxwritesfic/pseuds/alexxwritesfic
Summary: "Short" stories for Talvi's (Twitter @Talviiiii) Stories of Thedas prompts. AKA an excuse for me to write about my never-ending collection of Dragon Age OCs.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke, Carver Hawke/Original Male Character(s), Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Original Male Character(s), Cullen Rutherford/Original Male Character(s), Female Aeducan/Alistair (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus/Solas
Series: Stories of Thedas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188593
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	1. New Beginnings

Anatole knew he couldn’t stay in Orlais. Empress Celene had had Gaspard executed, and although Anatole had never been openly outspoken against Celene - he wasn’t  _ that _ foolish - his support for Gaspard was no secret. He didn’t believe Celene would allow Gaspard’s supporters to simply go about their lives without consequences; he didn’t fancy sticking around to find out what those consequences would be.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure what to do instead. He’d never left Orlais before and the rest of Thedas just seemed so… unappealing. He wouldn’t even know where to start.

Briefly, his thoughts drifted to the Inquisition, but he dismissed that idea. They were allied with Celene, after all. Still, from what he’d seen and heard of them, they seemed like reasonable people, and the Inquisitor didn’t seem like the type of person to execute people without good reason. Not only that, but the Inquisition had a lot of influence. An alliance with them might give him the protection he needed to be safe in Orlais.

He decided there was no harm in trying. If the Inquisition couldn’t help him, he would leave and find someone who could, but whatever happened it had to be better than staying in Orlais. It would be a fresh start, a new beginning. Besides, he wouldn’t mind seeing Cullen Rutherford again.

***

Skyhold was an impressive fortress, he supposed. It was nothing like anything he’d seen in Orlais. Skyhold’s design was simple, practical, not extravagant or sophisticated. He hadn't even reached the gates yet and he already hated it.

As he approached, Anatole was greeted by a guard. 'I'm here to speak with Ambassador Montilyet,' he told her.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but it’s urgent.’

The guard sighed, apparently unimpressed. Anatole wondered how many people’s demands she had to put up with. ‘Alright,’ she said, ‘come with me. I can’t guarantee anything, but if she’s not too busy she might agree to see you.’

Anatole nodded and followed the guard through the gate and into Skyhold. He had expected there to be a lot of people, but he hadn’t expected it to feel so crowded. There were people everywhere, rushing about and sometimes bumping into him. He was starting to think waiting for Empress Celene to execute him might have been better after all.

Eventually, they managed to push through the endless crowds to reach Josephine’s office. The guard knocked on the door and waited for a response before opening it. ‘Some Orlesian is here to see you, he doesn’t have an appointment,’ she said. Anatole fought the urge to roll his eyes at the guard’s attitude. He assumed her apparent dislike for him was thanks to him being Orlesian.  _ Typical Ferelden _ , he thought.

He heard Josephine’s voice say, ‘Send him in,’ before he was all but pushed through the door. Josephine looked up as he entered, only having to look at his mask for half a second before identifying him. ‘Comte Delacroix,’ she said with a smile, ‘what brings you here?’

He sat down, trying to make himself comfortable, trying to look like he belonged. ‘I wanted to discuss an alliance.’

‘Ah.’ Josephine frowned, ‘I’m not sure if that would be in the Inquisition’s best interests. What would you be able to offer us?’

Anatole wasn’t surprised by her response, but it still stung. 'I understand your concern,' he said, and then hesitated. What  _ could _ he offer? Celene would be able to provide the Inquisition with forces, information, money… he had nothing unique. Anything he could do, Celene could do better. He sighed, shook his head, and removed his mask. Josephine looked understandably surprised by the act, but she quickly hid her shock. ‘I believe I will be seen as a traitor for supporting Gaspard,’ he explained, ‘I’m not safe in Orlais and I don’t know what else to do.’

‘I don’t think an alliance with us would necessarily protect you.’

‘No,’ he agreed, defeated. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting.

‘You would, however, be safe in Skyhold, if you decided to stay,’ she suggested.

He sighed, forcing his face to appear neutral so that he wouldn’t betray how much he hated the idea. ‘I just-’

The door opened before he could finish his sentence and Anatole was already reaching to put his mask back on before he realised who it was.

Cullen Rutherford stood in the doorway. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t realise you were meeting with someone.’

‘Cullen,’ Josephine said, ‘I’m sure you remember Comte Delacroix.’

Cullen looked at him for a few seconds before a flash of recognition crossed his face. ‘Of course! I almost didn’t recognise you without the mask on.’

Anatole smiled at him. ‘It’s good to see you again, Commander. I believe you owe me a dance.’

Cullen chuckled. ‘Yes, I suppose I do.’

Anatole decided the Inquisition might not be so bad after all.


	2. Bad Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brennus and Carver left the Inquisition years ago, but memories of their final battle still haunt them.

When Brennus woke up, he was shaking. He sat up, breathing heavily as he tried to stop himself from crying.

He forced himself to take a deep breath as he looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in his house, in his bed, buried under a lot more blankets than was really necessary. Carver was asleep next to him. Well, Carver  _ had been _ asleep, but apparently Brennus’s movements had woken him up.

'Are you alright?' Carver asked, stifling a yawn as he rolled over to face him.

Brennus nodded, wiping his eyes. 'It was just a bad dream.'

'Was it… was it the Calling?'

'No,' Brennus assured him quickly, 'just a normal, horrible nightmare.'

Carver nodded, relieved. The Calling was something they rarely talked about. They would be lucky to have another fifteen years together, but no matter what, the Calling would come for them eventually. It was terrifying not knowing when it might happen. Brennus preferred not to think about it; he wanted to just enjoy whatever time he and Carver had left together.

Carver took his hand. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Brennus sighed. ‘It was that battle again,’ he said, knowing that Carver would know what he was talking about. The Inquisitor had gone to fight Corypheus. Most of the Inquisition’s forces were still making their way back from the Arbor Wilds, so it was up to the few soldiers still at Skyhold to face the demons, trying to keep them away from the Inquisitor. Brennus dreamed about that battle a lot.

Carver said nothing, sitting up as he waited patiently for Brennus to continue. Brennus always expected Carver to tell him to stop, to say that he was sick of hearing about it, but he never did. He just listened.

'I was fighting a demon and then I heard your voice calling to me so I started running towards you. I didn't even kill the demon; it was chasing me but I didn't care because I needed to get to you.' He squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to block out the images of the dream. His breaths were coming faster now as the panic he'd felt in his dream became more real. 'No matter how far I ran, every time you called to me you were just as far away as the first time. I kept running and even more demons were chasing me but I couldn't find you. I never found you.'

'But you did,' Carver reminded him. Brennus opened his eyes and looked into Carver’s, those blue eyes he could get lost in so easily. 'I'm right here,' Carver said, 'I'm alive. We both are.'

'I know,' Brennus said, 'I'm okay, really.' He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he knew he would be okay. Eventually.

Carver kissed him. 'Do you want to try to sleep again?' he asked, and Brennus nodded. Carver was asleep almost the second his head hit the pillow.

Brennus sat and watched him for a while, watching the rise and fall of his chest as air filled his lungs, a reminder that he was indeed alive. As he lay back down, Brennus put his hand on Carver’s chest, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat soothe him to sleep.


	3. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't OC-focused but is instead inspired by [this codex entry](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_A_Letter_by_a_Burning_Candle).

Maker, give me strength.

_ Father says goodbye to me before he goes to Ostagar to fight alongside the King. He’s honoured to take part in such an important fight, and his excitement is infectious, but I can’t help but worry for him. Wars aren’t won without casualties. He smiles and hugs me and tells me not to cry; he says he’ll be back soon with stories of his battle. He says that I have nothing to fear because the Maker will protect him. I don’t know yet that I’ll never see him again, so I don’t hug him hard enough. My last memory of him is him waving goodbye with a huge grin on his face. _

When the darkspawn came to Denerim, I wept so hard that I could not see, but still I fought for You.

_ Mother screams as they pour into the city. I tell her to be quiet, but she cannot, she is too afraid. Her screams draw the darkspawn to us and my sister and I have no choice but to pick up swords and fight. I pray that the Maker will protect us, but He cannot hear my prayers over Mother’s screams. The darkspawn don’t hesitate to tear her apart. I want to give up, I want to scream and cry like Mother, but I will not let her death be for nothing. I lash out with my sword, unable to see what I am hitting - if anything - through the blur of tears, but I keep fighting until all that remains is myself and my sister and Mother’s corpse, unrecognisable next to those of the darkspawn. _

When demons poured from the sky where the Temple of Sacred Ashes used to stand, my hands shook so badly that I could not aim my bow, but still I fought for You.

_ I am on my way to the Temple - I wish to know the results of the Conclave - when the explosion happens. It knocks me off my feet and I hit my head. Everything goes dark. When I open my eyes, I see the sky has been torn apart. I do not understand what is happening. I stumble to my feet just in time for a small tear to appear in front of me, and demons spill out of it. I have never fought demons before, I do not know if my arrows will hurt them, but I know I must try. If I run, they will just find other people to kill. I must do what I can to stop that from happening. My first arrow misses, I am shaking too much to aim properly, so I stop trying to aim. I fire randomly, hoping for the best, and some of my arrows strike true, guided by the Maker Himself. _

When Corypheus and his Archdemon destroyed Haven and killed my friends, I screamed until I had no voice, but still I fought for You.

_ The Inquisition has not existed for long, but it has changed my life, and Haven is my home now. We are going to close the hole in the sky - the Breach, they call it - and we are going to fix the world. I fight alongside the Herald of Andraste, and I am proud. I have finally found where I belong. _

_ The Herald has closed the Breach and we are celebrating. I am drinking with those I have grown to look upon as not just my friends, but my family. I look across the tavern to my lover and we raise a glass to each other. We’ve done it, we’ve played our small part in saving the world. We will have our own, private celebration later tonight. I barely even get to take a sip of my drink before the alarm bells start to ring: we are under attack. People are running and screaming, it is chaos, but no one knows where to go or what to do. It is too late; the enemy soldiers have already made their way into Haven. Everything is burning and I realise I must escape the tavern. _

_ I run to my lover and see that she is injured. I pick her up and carry her out of the tavern before the flames can consume us. I lay her on the ground, and it is only now that I realise she is already dead. Her body is burned and bleeding, my hands are covered in her blood, and I cannot think of what else to do but scream. In this moment, I understand my Mother. I was angry with her for years, for screaming and drawing the darkspawn right to us, but now all I can do is scream over my lover’s body, even as the enemy soldiers approach. _

_ I will not let them kill me. I will not let them take us both. I realise my bow is still in the tavern, most likely burnt to ash by now, so I take the dagger off of my dead lover’s body, and I fight. I do not stop screaming. I will learn later that we were attacked by a thing that names itself Corypheus, but right now all I know is that my friends are dead. My lover is dead, and I must fight to avenge her. _

They are sending me to attack Adamant. They say that the fortress is defended by an army of demons, and the odds are grim. We cannot win, but our distraction, our sacrifice may give the important people the chance to do what is necessary. My stomach is knotted, and I see dead friends from old battles reaching out for me every time I close my eyes.

_ I wonder why the Maker has spared my life so many times. Am I supposed to be grateful for this gift of life? Or am I being punished, forced to watch my loved ones die? I want to pray and ask the Maker to protect me, but I know my life is unimportant. Instead I ask Him to protect the Herald, even if it means I must be sacrificed. _

I am so afraid, Maker.

_ Maker, forgive me. I cannot breathe. I do not know if I can do this much longer. _

But still, I will fight for you.


	4. Picnics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders decides Dorian Hawke needs to get out of Kirkwall for a while.

'Are you alright?'

Dorian looked up, surprised, at the sound of Anders's voice. How long had he been there? His first instinct was to make some kind of bad joke to dodge the question, but he stopped himself; he knew he didn't have to do that around Anders. He didn't have to pretend. 'I'm fine,' he said, managing a tired smile. 'I'm just... I don't know.'

'Thinking too much again?'

'Something like that… everything's so exhausting. It feels like everyone always expects something from me.'

Anders walked over to him and ran a hand through his brown hair. It was getting long; Dorian hadn't bothered taking care of his appearance much recently.

'Come on,' Anders said, 'let's do something. Let's get out of Kirkwall for a while.'

Dorian nodded. It would be good to get away. 'How about a picnic?' he suggested.

'I pick the location, you bring the food?'

'Deal.'

'Great,' Anders said, leaning in for a quick kiss, 'I'll be back in a couple of hours.'

Dorian spent the next few hours trying to make himself look decent. He washed, cut his hair, shaved his patchy beard, and by the time Anders returned he looked and felt a little more like himself.

Anders took him out of Kirkwall to some woods nearby where he led the way to a small clearing. It was so… green. It was hard to believe Kirkwall was so close. This was exactly what he needed to clear his head; Anders somehow always knew what he needed. Dorian could hear the sound of birdsong nearby, but when he looked into the trees he couldn't see anything. He just hoped they were friendly birds; you could never be too sure what you would find in the Free Marches.

'This is nice,' he said as they sat down, 'it's peaceful.'

'Glad you like it.' Anders stretched out on the grass. 'So what are we eating?'

Dorian hesitated, then frowned. 'Oh, shit.'

'Hawke,' Anders said slowly, 'did you forget to bring food to the picnic?'

'It… may have slipped my mind.' He shrugged, grinning. 'Who says you need food for a picnic anyway?'

Anders rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help smiling. 'At least you're pretty,' he said.


	5. The Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astyth Aeducan wants to paint Alistair once the Blight is over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... supposed to be happy lol

'I would love to paint you,' Astyth said one night as they sat by the campfire.

'Oh?' Alistair smiled, 'I didn't know you liked painting.'

'I'm not very good at it,' she confessed. It was difficult for her to admit weakness, so she decided to try to play it off as unimportant, as if it wasn’t one of her favourite things to do. She felt embarrassed that she had even mentioned it in the first place. 'It's just something I do to relax.'

'I'm sure you're better than you give yourself credit for,' he told her, but she didn't believe him. She had a lot of talents, art just wasn't one of them.

'Will you show me them one day?' he asked.

Astyth hesitated. She had never shown her paintings to anyone, most people didn't even know they existed. Then again, Alistair wasn't most people. 'I'd love to,' she said, 'one day.'

'Maybe when this is all over, you can paint me,' Alistair suggested.

She smiled. 'I'd like that.'

'I'll have to practise my posing skills.'

***

Somehow, a part of her always knew that they wouldn't both survive the Blight, but that knowledge didn't make it hurt any less.

Astyth sighed as she approached the easel holding the half-finished portrait of Alistair. Most of her previous paintings were landscapes; after spending her whole life in Orzammar, the surface amazed her, and she wanted to paint all of the beautiful scenery before she forgot it.

That wasn't a risk with Alistair, though. Four years passed since the end of the Blight before she even picked up the paintbrush. Another two years had been and gone since then and she still had every inch of his face committed to memory. The shape of his nose, the colour of his eyes, the location of every freckle, all burned into her mind as if she had seen him just yesterday.

Most days, she couldn't even bring herself to look at the unfinished painting. Some days, she would stand before the easel, paintbrush in hand, and do nothing, as if hoping that simply standing there would be enough to complete the portrait. It was rare that she actually went as far as dipping the brush in paint and bringing it to the canvas.

She wanted to finish it, she wanted to honour Alistair's memory, but every brushstroke brought her unimaginable pain. She didn't want a painting of him, she wanted  _ him _ , in the flesh. It wasn't fair.

Astyth wondered if Alistair would find her struggle romantic, or if he would laugh at her. Maybe both. Sometimes, she could imagine him sitting across the room, posing for the portrait. He would fidget in his seat or keep trying to make conversation while she would remind him, only slightly annoyed, that he was supposed to be keeping still. At times like that, it was easy to paint. She let herself pretend for a while that everything was alright.

Astyth shook her head and turned away from the painting. She would finish it one day, she told herself.


	6. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mother Giselle wishes to hold a remembrance service for Haven; Athran Lavellan is unsure about it.

'Ah, there you are,' Cassandra said as Athran walked into Skyhold.

'Were you waiting for me?' he asked, grinning, 'I didn't realise you missed me so much.'

Cassandra sighed and shook her head, deciding to not give him the satisfaction of a response. 'Mother Giselle wants to hold a remembrance ceremony for those we lost at Haven. She was hoping you would give a speech.'

'No,' Athran said immediately.

'No? Why not?'

He gestured to his face, his vallaslin. ‘I’m not Andrastian.’

‘It isn’t a Chantry service. It’s for everyone, of all faiths.’

Athran bit his lip, trying to think of another excuse. 'Do I have to do it?' he asked.

'You don't  _ have _ to, no, but as the Inquisitor it will be expected of you.'

Athran groaned. He didn't even want to be the Inquisitor, how was this fair? He kept running through various excuses in his head, but everything he came up with he knew Cassandra would have an answer for. 'I can't,' he said eventually.

Cassandra frowned, but she didn't look annoyed with him for once; she seemed genuinely concerned. She gave him that look a little too often for his liking. 'Why not?'

'Those people died because of me. Because I wasn't good enough, I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't strong enough. How am I supposed to give a speech about the losses at Haven when the losses are my fault?'

'You are the only one who thinks that way. No one blames you for-'

'Well they should!' Athran snapped. 'They called me the Herald of Andraste, they believed I would save them, and I let them down. When they were dying, they weren't calling out for the Maker, they were calling out for the Herald. For  _ me _ .' He still heard their screams every time he closed his eyes. He didn't think he'd ever stop hearing them. That night haunted him. 'Please don't ask me to do this.'

Cassandra sighed and nodded. 'Alright. I'll speak to Mother Giselle. Perhaps Josephine could speak in your place?'

'Good idea,' Athran agreed.

***

Athran almost didn't attend the remembrance ceremony at all; he wasn't sure if he could handle it. He arrived just in time and hid himself at the back of the crowd, out of sight. Josephine gave her speech about the tragedy of Haven, the plans to build a memorial, and hope for the future. It was a much better speech than he could have given, even if he wasn't consumed by guilt.

He jumped at the feeling of a hand on his arm but relaxed when he realised it was just Cassandra. 'I'm glad you came,' she said.

He nodded. 'Me too.'


	7. Wicked Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela and Hawke play Wicked Grace before leaving Kirkwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiera Hawke is agender and uses they/them pronouns!!

‘It’s going to be weird leaving Kirkwall after all this time,’ Kiera said, staring out of the window of the Hawke estate. It would be good to leave, to travel the seas and have a new adventure, but still, it would be strange. Kirkwall was home; they were leaving behind so many memories.

‘I know,’ Isabela agreed, ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m even going to miss the Hanged Man.’

Kiera laughed, shaking their head. ‘That's one thing I won't be sorry to leave. What will it be like on the ship?’

‘Chaotic, but compared to Kirkwall I think you’ll find it peaceful.’ Isabela walked up behind Kiera and wrapped her arms around their waist, resting her chin on their shoulder. 'My crew can be intense, but they're good people and they're damn loyal. I think you'll get along.'

‘I’m looking forward to meeting them.’

‘Have you ever played Wicked Grace before?’ Isabela asked.

‘Not for a long time.’

‘We’ll play a lot of it on my ship; you should get some practice in.’

‘Alright,’ they agreed, letting Isabela take their hand and lead them to the table, ‘but go easy on me, won’t you? I’m not sure I remember the rules.’

Kiera won the first game, much to Isabela's horror. 'I thought you said you didn't know how to play!'

'I didn't think I did,' Kiera said, laughing at the look of shock on Isabela's face.

Isabela picked up the cards and started to shuffle them. 'Let's play again. I'm not holding back this time, though.'

The game had only just started when Kiera said, 'You're cheating. You've got an extra card in your hand.'

'I'm- how did you know?' Isabela asked, not even bothering to defend herself. She sounded genuinely impressed.

Kiera showed her their cards. 'I was doing the same.'

Isabela threw her head back and laughed. 'Brilliant! You'll fit in on my ship just fine.'

'Does everyone on your ship cheat at card games?' Kiera asked.

'Only those who want to keep their coin. So, yes, everyone.' She looked at Kiera, amused. 'They don't usually admit to cheating, though. You might want to work on that. Come on, let's play again. Fairly, this time.'

They noticed when Isabela picked up an extra card when she wasn't supposed to, trying to hide it under another card, but they didn't say anything. After all, they'd done the same thing. Kiera supposed they'd have to get used to playing unfairly if they wanted to have any chance against Isabela's crew.

After Kiera won again, Isabela leaned across the table, a hint of a smirk on her lips. 'Shall we make this more interesting?'

'What did you have in mind?'

'Strip Wicked Grace. After each game, the loser removes an item of clothing.'

Kiera laughed, rolling their eyes. 'If you want me naked, you only have to ask.'

'I know,' Isabela grinned, 'but this is more fun. Are we doing this or not?'

'Alright, let's play,' Kiera said, grabbing the deck and starting to shuffle the cards.


	8. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had three ideas for this one and I couldn't choose, so I did them all. The first letter is from my canon world state, the other two are from my AU world state.

_ A letter from Inquisitor Selana Lavellan to her younger brother Athran: _

Athran,

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write, I haven't had much of a break since becoming Inquisitor. I hope you haven’t been worrying too much (I know you have - stop it!) I promise I’m okay. Being the Inquisitor is actually pretty nice, even if it’s stressful at times. Everyone’s still insisting I was chosen by Andraste, but I’m not going to waste my energy denying it. That will just demoralise them.

You should visit! I know I said I'm busy, but you know I'll always make time for you. Skyhold is nice, and it’s huge - there’s lots of room for you to cause trouble! I’ve made friends here and I really want you to meet them. Solas is… something special. I’m not sure what we are yet (or if there even is a “we”) but we have kissed. Sort of. We kissed in the Fade, at least. Does that count? You’d laugh if you saw me, staring at him like some kind of love sick puppy. He’s so intelligent and kind and he knows so much about the Fade, I could listen to him talk for hours. I feel ridiculous but I can’t help it.

I think you’d get along well with Dorian. I’ve made a lot of friends here but he’s definitely the one I’m closest to, and he’s just your type. He’s very attractive, very flirty, and very fun. Oh, and very interested in men. I know you swore off relationships after everything that happened with Hannah, but I think if you gave him a chance you’d really like him. I’ve already told him all about you and he would love to meet you. So now you  have to visit otherwise you’ll disappoint my best friend!

Sorry, I’ll stop playing matchmaker now. I just want you to be happy.

Tell Adriani I said hi, won’t you? I thought about writing to her, too, but I don’t think she’s forgiven me for leaving yet, as if it’s my fault all this happened. It’s strange to think if she was the Keeper’s First instead of me, she’d be here instead. She would hate it here, I think. I miss you both so much, it’s weird being away from you.

I hope you’re okay. I know you can take care of yourself and I know Adriani is there for you but… well, you know I worry about you. If you ever need anything, if you ever need to get away for a while, you know where to find me, okay?

I love you so much.

Selana

_ A letter from Inquisitor Athran Lavellan to Solas, never sent: _

Solas,

Fuck you. Fuck. You.

What the fuck is wrong with you? I know we’re not together anymore, but I thought after everything we’d been through you’d at least have the  ~~ desency ~~ decency to say goodbye.

I thought you cared about me. Surely you must have known what leaving like that would do to me. I’ve been a fucking mess. I mean, I’m always a fucking mess but I’ve been even worse than usual. And now Dorian has to deal with it alone. He doesn’t show it as much but I know he’s heartbroken too. We loved you. We still love you, even after all this.

Do you even care? Did you ever care?

I still don’t understand why you left me. I thought you were going to explain everything after we killed Corypheus but then you just fucked off to Creators-know-where. I know I'm bad at talking about my feelings but at least I don't literally disappear to avoid a conversation.

Even Leliana can’t find you. Where are you? I wish I wasn’t worried. I wish I didn’t care. You clearly don’t give a shit but I can’t help but find myself hoping you’re alright, wherever you are.

~~ I hate you.  ~~

Fuck, I wish I hated you even half as much as I should. I like to think I deserve better than this, but I don’t know, maybe this is exactly what I deserve. Maybe I'm doomed to be unlovable. Don't tell Dorian I said that.

I don't know why I'm even writing this, it's not like you'll ever read it. You know, because you left.

~~ I need you. ~~

Come back. Please.

Athran

_ A letter from Marquis Anatole Delacroix to Emperor Gaspard de Chalons: _

Your Radiance,

I hope this letter finds you well.

Let me start by thanking you again for giving me the opportunity and the honour of working so closely with the Inquisition. I confess it is strange to be away from Orlais, and being around so many Fereldens is not exactly my idea of a good time, but I hope I’ll get used to it. Though I doubt I’ll get used to the smell of wet dog any time soon.

I don't miss Orlais as much as I expected, but one thing I do miss is the theatre. The soldiers here sometimes try to put on small plays but they're so bad it's almost painful to watch. None of them have any talent for acting, or for coming up with a decent plot. It’s unbearable. As soon as I'm back in Orlais, I'm going to the theatre and seeing the first available show no matter what it is. Anything has to be better than this.

I don’t fit in here at all and everyone knows it. They treat me as though I am some kind of Orlesian spy, even though I have made my purpose here quite clear. They know that all information I give to Orlais is first cleared with their spymaster, but they still distrust me. Perhaps because she is Orlesian too?

There’s a mercenary company here led by a Ben-Hassrath spy, but people seem to like him well enough, even though he’s a Qunari. Do Fereldens really prefer the company of Qunari to that of Orlesians? I don’t think I’ll ever understand them.

They call themselves the Bull’s Chargers. The mercenary company, that is. They’re a strange group, but I think even stranger is the fact that I actually get along with them. They’re very diverse; I suppose they don’t have the same room for prejudice that others do. There’s even a Tevinter - a Tevinter, working with a Qunari, can you imagine! He’s surprisingly nice.

His name is Cremisius, though the Chargers call him Krem. He's like me, with the... gender thing. It's nice knowing I'm not alone. I like him a lot more than I thought I would.

I apologise. I did not write to tell you about my personal life, and if you’ve actually bothered to read this far I commend you. The actual point of this letter was to let you know I won’t be returning to Orlais as soon as we’d first expected. I understand now just how real this threat is and I think I need to stay and see it through. It’s my duty to do what I can to help.

I will, of course, return to Orlais as soon as this is all over.

I know you have promised aid to the Inquisition already but if there is any more you can provide, I ask you - I  urge you - to do so. I cannot stress enough how important it is that the Inquisition has as many resources at their disposal as possible.

I confess I had been unsure about the Inquisition at first. The Inquisitor can be immature and rude and annoying and refuses to take most things seriously, but beneath all that I know he is a good man who wants what is best for Thedas. He helped you become Emperor, after all.  ~~ He’s good in bed, too. ~~

I believe we will win this. I just hope it ends soon; there's no point in winning a war if half of the world isn't there to see it.

Your friend and loyal ally,

Marquis Delacroix


	9. Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver hates celebrating his birthday without Bethany.

'What are you doing?' Carver asked as he walked into the kitchen.

Brennus smiled at him. 'Making a cake. Happy birthday, my love.'

Carver sighed and sat down. 'Brennus…'

'I know, I know,' Brennus said, taking a seat next to him, 'but I wanted to do  _ something _ . I hate thinking about you being miserable on a day that's meant to be a celebration.'

'It just... feels wrong to celebrate it without Bethany.'

Brennus took his hand. 'I understand,' he said. But he didn't understand, not really. How could he? He knew the pain of losing a sibling - his brother's horrific death was on his mind every day even after all these years - but the pain of losing a twin wasn't something he could even imagine. Carver was thirty-five now, almost twice the age Bethany was when she died. He’d lived almost half of his life without his twin. It broke Brennus’s heart to know Carver was suffering and there was nothing he could do to help.

They sat in silence like that for a few minutes before Carver eventually stood up and walked back into the bedroom without a word.

Brennus sighed. He should have said something, he knew that, but what was he supposed to say? Carver had a tendency to lash out when he was upset, and Brennus was pretty sure anything he said would have easily led to an argument. He shook his head and went back to making the cake, though his heart was no longer in it. At least it gave him something to do.

Carver showed his face again a few hours later; Brennus assumed he’d had a nap. The cake sat on a plate in the centre of the table. He wasn’t fantastic at baking - although he was, thankfully, much better than Carver - so he kept it simple. Besides, Carver wouldn’t have wanted anything elaborate.

‘How are you feeling?’ Brennus asked.

‘I’m alright,’ Carver said. He gestured to the cake. ‘That looks good.’

Brennus smiled. ‘Want some?’ Carver nodded, so Brennus cut a slice for each of them.

‘Thanks,’ Carver said. ‘I… I’m sorry for being so negative about it. I know you’re just trying to do something nice.’

Brennus kissed him then rested their foreheads together. ‘There’s no point in me trying to do something nice for you if it doesn’t make you happy, is there? I won’t pretend to understand how you feel, but whatever you need, you just have to tell me, okay? I love you.’

‘Next year, can we just ignore my birthday completely?’

It wasn’t the response Brennus was hoping for, although he wasn’t entirely sure what he  _ was _ hoping for, but he nodded. ‘Of course. Whatever you want.’

‘We’ll celebrate your birthday extra hard to make up for it,’ Carver promised.


	10. Serrah Hardass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden recruits don't like Patrick Cousland much, but he has more important things to worry about than what people think of him.

Warden-Commander Patrick Cousland knew that the recruits didn’t like him. He’d gained a reputation for being cold, ruthless, and uncompromising, willing to do whatever it took to get the job done, even at the cost of the lives of others. If the recruits could avoid talking to him directly, they did. He didn’t mind, though. He wasn’t there to make friends, he was there to lead the Wardens. They didn’t need to like him, they just needed to respect him and do as he said.

Patrick didn’t care if that was how other people saw him. He wasn’t sure if he had always been that way, or if the Blight had changed him, but either way it was who he was now. There was no room in his heart for caring about himself or anyone else; he’d lost that long ago.

A group of recruits - one elven man, a human man, and a human woman - brand new to the Wardens and still excited about the glory it might bring them, sat around a table nearby. Patrick wasn't certain of their names. It felt like there were more recruits every day and it got hard to keep track of them. Patrick paid them no mind until he heard his name come up in the conversation, and then he couldn't help but listen in.

'He's the worst,' the human man said.

The elf nodded. ‘He caught me and Lisbeth playing cards last night when we were on guard duty and he lectured us for an hour.’ Patrick failed to see how that made him “the worst” - he would rather not have the Keep attacked because his recruits were slacking off. They weren’t there when the darkspawn invaded Vigil’s Keep, they didn’t understand the dangers.

The first man shook his head. ‘I know he stopped the Blight, but that’s no excuse for him to treat us like crap because we actually know how to have fun.'

'Forget Warden Commander, his title should be Serrah Hardass,' the elf said. Patrick actually had to stop himself from laughing at that; it was an annoying accurate nickname. He hoped it didn’t catch on.

'Go on, then,' the woman said, 'I dare you to go up to him and say that to his face.'

The elf shuddered. 'No thanks, I'd rather keep my head.'

When Patrick later gave out orders to the new recruits, he saved the elf until last. 'Warden… Camrien, yes?' the young elf nodded. 'You’re on guard duty again tonight, with Rilanna.’

Camrien nodded again. 'Of course, Warden-Commander.'

'Oh, I don't answer to that title anymore,' Patrick said, 'I go by Serrah Hardass now.'

He watched as Camrien's expression changed from one of confusion to one of horror as he realised that Patrick had overheard the earlier conversation. He stood there for a couple of seconds, eyes wide, before turning and fleeing from the room.

Patrick chuckled to himself. Camrien would never slack off guard duty again.


	11. Mabari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick Cousland doesn't have friends, but he has a mabari, and that's close enough.

Patrick sat on his bed, staring at the wall. Something had been bugging him all day but he couldn’t figure out what. His mabari, Prince, bounded into the room and jumped onto the bed. Patrick smiled and scratched him behind the ear. ‘Hi, boy,’ he said, and Prince barked at him.

It hit Patrick then: he was lonely. He had lost everyone he cared about in the attack on Castle Cousland, and after that he pushed everyone away, not wanting to risk losing anyone else. Fergus was still alive, but they weren't as close as they used to be; the Blight had changed Patrick and Fergus didn't like who he'd become. Patrick didn't like who he'd become, either, but there wasn't much he could do about that.  People thought he was heartless, but that wasn’t true. He had a heart, it was just buried under layers and layers of armour.

Somehow, Morrigan had broken through that armour and pierced his heart. He let himself love her, and then she left, too, pregnant with his child. He usually tried to not think about her for too long because every time he did he was certain the pain of it would crush him.

Prince suddenly sat up and barked loudly, pulling Patrick out of his thoughts. He wondered if Prince could tell something was wrong or if the mabari simply wanted attention. Probably a bit of both.

‘What is it, boy? You want to play?’ he asked, and Prince wagged his tail in response. Patrick smiled and stood up. ‘Alright, come on.’

There was plenty of open space around Vigil’s Keep, which Prince seemed to think all belonged to him. Patrick supposed it did, in a way; he was incapable of denying his mabari anything.

For a while, Prince was content with just running around, with Patrick following him close behind. Prince soon grew bored of that, however, and barked at Patrick until he came up with something else for them to do.

They played fetch for the next hour and then Prince wanted to run around again, wanting Patrick to follow him and growling or barking angrily every time Patrick fell too far behind. Despite the fact that he went for a long run every morning and was in great shape, he didn’t find it easy to keep up with a mabari who apparently never ran out of energy.

After that, Prince decided he wanted to dig. Patrick wasn’t sure if he was digging for anything in particular, but it didn’t seem like it - if he was looking for something he would have found it easily. His mabari had simply decided he wanted to tear up all the grass in Vigil’s Keep. He was sure the groundskeeper would give him hell for it but it was nothing that a bit of gold couldn’t fix. At least Prince was happy.

By the time Prince had finally run out of energy, Patrick was exhausted from trying to keep up with him. At least he would have no trouble falling asleep.

Once they finally got back to his room, he sat on the bed and Prince jumped up next to him, panting happily. Patrick managed a smile. He'd been through so much and lost so many people, but Prince was there through it all. ‘You’ll never leave me, will you, boy?’

Prince barked and licked his hand. At least mabari were always loyal.


	12. The Night Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astyth doesn't mind keeping watch at night; it gives her time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in an AU where, after leaving the Wardens, Astyth ends up with the Carta and eventually ends up as the Inquisitor. Because her luck is just that bad.

Astyth learned very quickly that she hated the Carta. She hadn’t exactly joined willingly, but there were few options for dwarves on the surface with mysterious pasts.

She missed the Wardens, but she couldn’t stay. Not after she lost Alistair; he represented everything good that the Wardens strove for and without him there she felt lost. The knowledge that it was her fault - that her distrust of magic and of Morrigan had led to Alistair’s death - was too much to bear, so she ran. It hadn’t taken long for her to end up with the Carta after that. They were easy enough to find and more than excited to take in a new member, hoping to exploit her. They learned the hard way that she wasn’t to be messed with.

She travelled with a small group of four other dwarves and even though she’d only been with them a few months, her position as the leader had been made clear. They knew her as Cadash, though she gave them no first name. It was a name that had once belonged to her friend, Shale, and she thought it suited her well.

They had been walking for a few hours and one of her companions, Magrin, had been complaining the whole time. One minute his feet hurt, the next he was hungry, the next he wanted to sleep. It was endless.

Astyth rolled her eyes and stopped. ‘We’ll make camp here, then,’ she said, gesturing to the open field. They weren’t far from Starkhaven, another hour of walking and they could stay in a tavern instead, but she would rather sleep on the ground if it meant she didn’t have to listen to Magrin.

As they sat down for dinner, Myara was more than happy to fill the silence with stories of Orzammar. Myara had never actually been to Orzammar, and it pained Astyth to hear her completely inaccurate tales, but at least it was entertaining.

'Lantos and I will take first watch,’ Astyth said once they had finished eating and the camp was finally set up, ‘Magrin and Gadrik will be next. The rest of you, get some sleep.’

She liked Lantos. They got along pretty well, and out of all her companions he was the least annoying. Still, that didn’t stop him from getting on her nerves.

They sat by the edge of the camp. 'What's the deal with you, Cadash?' Lantos asked. 'You just show up one day, no name, no story, but enough skills and experience to be in charge. Who are you really? Who  _ were _ you?'

Astyth sighed. She'd hoped for some peace and quiet, but apparently that was too much to ask for. It wasn't the first time she'd been asked that and she was sure it wouldn't be the last but that didn't make the question any less exhausting. 'The  _ deal _ ,' she said slowly, 'is that you stay out of my business and I might let you keep your tongue.'

Lantos laughed. 'Nice try, but you can't intimidate me that easily.'

For a moment, Astyth actually considered telling him the truth. It would be a relief to have someone to talk to. But she knew he would tell the others and then she wouldn't be Cadash anymore, she would once again be Astyth Aeducan, the Hero of Ferelden. She'd left that life behind for a reason.

'I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you,' she said. Lantos laughed again, though he seemed less certain; he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Good.

The next few hours were spent in silence, Astyth shutting down any attempts at conversation as quickly as possible. She reminded Lantos that they needed to be quiet if they were going to have any chance of spotting trouble before it spotted them.

Eventually, Lantos went to bed and Gadrik took his place but Astyth stayed awake. She couldn’t sleep, not when she was thinking about her past, so she might as well use the time awake to keep watch rather than stare at the inside of a tent all night.

It gave her time to think, too. She knew she couldn’t stay with the Carta forever. She didn’t belong there, and she hated it, but she wasn’t sure what her other options were. Once they reached Starkhaven, she would slip away for a while and see if she could learn about any opportunities. Preferably something that didn’t involve smuggling lyrium.

While she stared out across the field, Astyth imagined what it would be like if she suddenly saw Alistair appear over the horizon and walk towards her. It was ridiculous and impossible, she knew, but the thought was enough to bring a small smile to her face.

She knew she’d be exhausted by the time morning came, but she didn’t mind. She was used to exhaustion.


	13. Tender Love and Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athran learns that wyvern bites hurt.

The fight should have been easy. It  _ would _ have been easy if they hadn't been taken by surprise. Solas had been certain they weren't in any danger, so Athran had taken the opportunity to remove his uncomfortable armour and wash himself in the lake next to the camp.

The wyvern had come out of nowhere. Before anyone had a chance to react, it had lunged at Athran and sunk its teeth into his side and all everyone else could do was watch in horror. Cassandra let out a shout that got the wyvern’s attention and its jaws let go of Athran, letting him drop to the ground.

Solas wanted nothing more than to run to Athran and help him - if he didn’t get treated the wyvern’s venom would kill him - but he knew he had to focus on killing the wyvern first. Luckily, Dorian and Cassandra had the same idea. None of them were prepared, none of them were ready for a fight, so it took a lot longer than it should have to kill it. Eventually, however, it fell, and Cassandra thrust her sword into its neck one more time just to be sure.

Dorian was already at Athran’s side. ‘He’s breathing,’ he said, ‘but we need to get him back to Skyhold. He needs proper healing.’

They were less than a day’s ride away from Skyhold, but the journey back felt like an eternity. Every second that passed brought Athran dangerously close to death.

The sight of Cassandra carrying the unconscious Inquisitor into Skyhold understandably caused a stir. Solas was sure that if Athran had been awake for it, he would have loved all the drama and attention. Cassandra didn’t take him to the infirmary, instead she carried him inside and straight to his quarters, followed closely by a healer.

The healer worked quickly to remove the venom and clean the wound. She said she was confident that he would make a full recovery, but it would take time and she couldn't be sure when he would wake up.

Unsurprisingly, Solas and Dorian both agreed to stay with him. They pulled up a couple of chairs next to the bed and sat together as they watched the gentle rise and fall of Athran’s chest. They’d made it in time, he was going to be fine, but even so… they’d nearly lost him.

‘I told him we weren’t in danger,’ Solas said.

Without taking his eyes off Athran, Dorian took Solas’s hand. ‘No. Don’t do that to yourself. We all thought we were safe there.’

Hours passed. Dorian and Solas sat there in silence, holding each other’s hands and waiting, praying, for Athran to wake up.

‘I can’t do this,’ Dorian said eventually, standing up. ‘I need to… I need a break.’

Solas nodded in understanding. ‘Go and rest, I’ll stay with him.’

***

Athran woke up to the feeling of something on his face. When he opened his eyes, he realised it was a wet cloth, and Solas was the one holding it. Athran tried to sit up and grunted at the pain that shot through him.

'Try not to move,’ Solas said, putting the cloth down.

He looked down at his side where the wyvern had bitten him; it had been carefully bandaged, although the bandage was covered in his blood. ‘Is it going to scar?’

Solas nodded. ‘Probably.’

‘Nice.’

Solas handed him an elfroot potion and he drank it. 'It still hurts,' he said.

Solas sighed. 'You need to give the potion time to work.'

‘You’re not suggesting I should be patient, are you?’ Athran asked, grinning. ‘I thought you knew me better than that.’

‘My mistake,’ Solas laughed, ‘if you were patient, you’d have nothing to complain about.’

Shortly after, the door opened and Dorian walked in. When he saw Athran, relief flooded his face. ‘You’re awake,’ he said as he approached the bed. He sat down carefully and brushed some hair out of Athran’s face. His eyes were filled with worry. ‘How are you feeling, angel?’

‘I’m gonna have a really cool scar,’ Athran told him.

Dorian laughed but he frowned when he glanced at Athran's side. 'You need clean bandages,' he said.

Solas put a gentle hand on Athran’s side, casting a simple healing spell so that Dorian could help him to sit up without him being in too much pain. Athran didn’t usually mind blood, but when it was his own blood the thought of it was enough to make him feel sick. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Solas’s and Dorian’s hands on him. After a while, he wasn’t sure whose hands were whose. Someone was cleaning the blood from his wound, someone was stroking his hair, someone was wrapping new bandages around him, someone was running a finger across the old scar on his jaw.

‘There,’ Dorian said finally, ‘good as new.’

Athran opened his eyes and smiled at him. ‘It still hurts like a bitch.’

Dorian chuckled and kissed him. ‘That will pass. I’m just glad you’re alive.’ He and Solas helped Athran to lie down again. ‘You’re not going to be moving from here for a while, though.’

He groaned. ‘I’m already bored of being stuck in bed.’

‘We’ll stay with you as much as we can,’ Solas promised.

Athran nodded. He opened his mouth, about to ask if they would stay with him while he slept, but it turned out he didn’t need to ask. Both Dorian and Solas were already moving to lie down on the bed with him. They couldn’t curl up around each other and cuddle like they usually would, but they could at least lie there together. Dorian squeezed his hand tight and Solas kissed his shoulder. He was okay. That was enough.

Plus, he was going to have a really cool scar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that healing magic exists but it would have been a very boring fic if solas had simply clicked his fingers and Athran was fine. Where's the Drama???


	14. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athran and Selana spend the day together on the anniversary of their brother's death.

‘So this is Skyhold?’ Selana said as she greeted Athran with a hug. ‘It’s… big.’

Athran laughed. ‘Really? You come all the way here and all you can say is “it’s big”?’

‘I haven’t seen enough of it to say more yet, have I?’ She linked their arms together. ‘Come on, give me a tour. I want to meet these men of yours that you can’t shut up about.’

No matter how hard Selana tried to pretend it was just a normal visit, they both knew why she was really there. It was the anniversary of their brother’s death and she was worried about how Athran would handle being so far from the clan. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he could cope, but… well, she  _ didn’t _ think he could cope. Athran had a lot of skills, but dealing with things in a healthy way was not one of them.

Athran hadn't been okay for a long time, but Darinel's death changed him. Most of Selana's memories of the day Darinel died were of Athran. She remembered Darinel's body, ripped to shreds by a bear, and Athran next to him, desperately trying to put the pieces together again as if that would fix him and bring him back. He was screaming, covered in blood, and oblivious to the rest of the clan around him.

Eventually, Selana had had to pull Athran away from the body, and then she was covered in blood too and she couldn’t even care about that because Athran was clinging to her, still screaming, and she had to focus on making sure he was okay.

Athran blamed himself. He and Darinel had been hunting together and had decided to split up and make it into a competition. They did it all the time and it had never been a problem before, but it meant that Athran wasn’t there when the bear came. Most of the clan’s reactions only helped to reinforce his guilt until he became so afraid to do anything or go anywhere in case he ended up hurting someone else. It wasn't his fault, of course it wasn't, but it was impossible to convince him of that.

Darinel was the one who died, but Selana felt like she lost two brothers that day.

She tried to focus on the present as Athran showed her around Skyhold. It was impressive, even bigger than she’d first realised. He was clearly proud of it, she thought, as he pointed out all the décor he had chosen. The fact that none of it matched didn't seem to bother him.

‘There they are!’ he said as they entered the room to see a human and an elf - Dorian and Solas, presumably - playing chess. He turned to Selana. ‘Please don’t embarrass me.’

She grinned. ‘I think you do a great job of embarrassing yourself without my help.’

Selana wondered if they knew the importance of the day, but judging from the casual way they greeted Athran and the apparent lack of worry or concern, she assumed they didn’t. That wasn’t surprising - Athran had never been good at talking about things, he preferred to just avoid them. Athran kissed them both before introducing her. ‘This is my sister, Selana.’

She wasn’t sure if she should shake hands with them or hug them, so instead settled for an awkward wave. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you.’

‘And you,’ Dorian said, ‘we’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘Good things, I hope!’

Athran shook his head, smiling fondly. ‘I don’t think I could say a bad thing about you even if I wanted to.’

The four of them spent the next couple of hours together, talking and getting to know each other. Selana liked both of them, but she especially found it fascinating to talk with Solas. She couldn’t understand how he knew so much about magic and the Fade but she expected she would be able to learn a lot from him. He didn’t really seem like Athran’s type, but every so often Athran would glance at Solas and get the softest smile on his face, and Selana was just glad her brother was happy.

Dorian was lovely. He was so easy to talk to and made Selana feel welcome. He was full of questions, genuinely interested in getting to know her. He also wanted to hear fun stories about Athran’s childhood, which she was more than happy to share. What was the point of being an older sister if she didn’t get to embarrass him in front of his boyfriends?

Eventually, Athran decided he didn’t want to listen to any more humiliating stories about himself and stood up, saying, ‘I should probably show Selana to her room.’

Selana nodded and moved to follow him. ‘It was lovely to meet you two,’ she said. She would never stop worrying about Athran, but at least she knew he was in good hands.

As Athran led her through Skyhold to the room she’d be staying in for the week, Selana allowed herself to hope that she’d succeeded in distracting him from what should have been a horrible day. However, as soon as they reached the room, the fun and carefree mask disappeared. Selana opened her mouth to speak but she didn’t get the chance to ask Athran if he was okay before he started to cry.

She guided him to the bed and sat next to him, letting him cry. Even after all this time she was still unsure how to comfort him. If she tried to hug him, or even just touch his arm, he would shrug her off, as if he felt like he didn't deserve the affection. It broke her heart.

'I miss him so much,' he managed to get out between sobs.

'I know,' Selana said, 'so do I.' She hesitated before putting a hand on his back. He didn't push her away, which could only be a good sign. She didn't try to do any more, she just sat there and let him cry. She wanted to cry too but that wouldn't help anything. Athran needed her; she could take care of herself later.

Eventually, Athran started to calm down. After staring at the wall for a while, he said, ‘Do you remember when he got in trouble for going into that alienage and tried to get the elves to join us?’

Selana laughed. ‘If I remember correctly, you were there, too.’

Athran shrugged. ‘I was just there for the chaos of it all, that doesn’t count. Darinel… he really wanted to help them. He wanted to make a difference.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘He’d be so much better at this Inquisitor shit than me. If I’d died that day instead-’

‘Stop it,’ Selana said, ‘I don’t want to hear you say things like that, okay?’ She didn’t think Athran necessarily wanted to die, but he didn’t exactly like being alive, either. It was worrying. ‘You should tell Dorian and Solas. They’d want to know, they’d want to be there for you.’

He refused to meet her eye; that meant he knew she was right. ‘I don’t know… maybe. I’ll think about it.’ He shook his head and stood up, putting on a false smile that was almost good enough to fool even her. ‘You must be exhausted after coming all this way; I’ll let you sleep.’

She nodded and watched him leave the room. Once the door was closed, Selana finally let herself feel and grieve for her brother. She curled up on the bed and cried into her pillow until she fell asleep.


	15. The Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anatole and Cullen prepare for the fight in the Arbor Wilds.

Anatole wasn’t built for war. He could kill when he had to - he knew how to slide a dagger between someone’s ribs before they even knew he was holding the blade - but war? No, that was something different entirely. That had always been Gaspard’s speciality.

He knew he didn’t have to join the battle, but how could he refuse? The battle in the Arbor Wilds might change anything. Anatole refused to be remembered as a coward who hid himself away in Skyhold when everyone else went off to save the world. He would fight, even if he hated it, even if it terrified him.

Empress Celene would be there, too, which made it even worse. He was sure she wouldn’t be happy to see him (he certainly wouldn’t be happy to see  _ her _ ) but he planned to wear his mask with pride; he may have left Orlais, but he was still Orlesian. He would not let himself be intimidated.

They would be leaving for the Arbor Wilds tomorrow and it was all anyone was talking about. Anatole couldn’t take two steps in Skyhold without hearing someone mention the impending battle.

He didn't bother to knock on the door to Cullen's office before entering. Cullen looked up from his desk, annoyed at the intrusion, but his expression changed into something softer when he realised it was Anatole.

'You look like shit,' Anatole said.

'Thanks.'

'When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?'

Cullen thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. 'Honestly, I don't even remember.'

Anatole sighed. 'I'll be glad when this is all over. I want to see what you look like when you're relaxed.' He sat on the desk, covering the map. He wasn't sure how long Cullen had been staring at that map, but he expected the commander's eyes could do with a break. Even then, Cullen was still too distracted to focus on Anatole. 'Thinking about tomorrow?'

Cullen nodded, frowning. 'I can't stop thinking about it. This battle could change everything. I need my troops to be prepared for every possibility but we still know so little about what Corypheus can do, I don't know  _ how _ to prepare them. How are you feeling about it?'

Anatole hesitated. 'I'm scared,' he eventually admitted. 'I've been in small fights before, but never anything like this.'

‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ Cullen reminded him.

‘I know.’

‘No one would blame you if you wanted to stay behind.’

‘I  _ know _ .’

Cullen sighed. ‘So why are you coming?’

Anatole could have said many things, then. He could have talked about the thrill of the battle and the glory it would bring him. He could have said that it would be an honour to fight with the Inquisition and to do his part in bringing down Corypheus. None of that was really true, though, no matter how hard he might try to convince himself otherwise. ‘I’m not a fool, I know that many people are going to die,’ he said, ‘I know that you could be one of them. How can I stay here and watch you leave with no idea if I’ll see you again? Tomorrow could be the end of everything and if that’s the case, I want to be by your side.’

‘I don’t want you to feel like you have to come just because I’ll be there. If you don’t want to-’

He shook his head, smiling fondly, and took Cullen's hand and kissed it. 'I would follow you anywhere, Cullen. I love you.' If someone told him a year ago that he would fall in love - with a  _ Ferelden _ , of all people - he would have laughed and called them ridiculous. Yet there he was, ready to ride into battle with a man he’d only known for a few months, ready to die by his side.


	16. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anatole returns to Orlais and realises that his home isn't as wonderful as he remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in my AU world state, in which Gaspard is Emperor and Anatole ends up with Krem!!

Anatole didn’t know how he was going to feel when he returned to Orlais. He was looking forward to it, of course, but it would be strange. He’d grown used to being with the Inquisition, he’d even made friends there, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be over. Still, Corypheus was defeated and there was no real reason for him to stay. Gaspard had sent him there to be a voice for Orlais, to ensure his country played its role in helping to end the threat to the world. That threat was ended, so his job was done.

As soon as the news of Corypheus’s defeat reached Orlais, Gaspard had declared he would throw a ball, and Anatole had arrived shortly before it began. He only just had enough time to get ready, donning the blue and gold mask that once felt so familiar on his face as if it were a part of him.

There was a decent amount of excitement when he was introduced at the ball and he couldn’t help but smile; clearly not everyone knew he’d be coming back so soon.

‘Marquis Delacroix,’ Gaspard greeted him, ‘welcome home.’

Anatole bowed deeply, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach at the word “home”. ‘Thank you, Your Radiance. I’m glad to be back.’

He’d been looking forward to the ball and he really wanted to enjoy it, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Anatole looked around at all the nobles with their false smiles, silently scheming and plotting, willing to do whatever it took to elevate their own positions. He knew them all by name, but he didn’t  _ know _ them. He certainly didn’t trust them. Even Gaspard - who, for a long time, was the closest thing to a friend he had - would turn on him in an instant if it suited him. After everything, how could Anatole call this home?

The Inquisition had been a refreshing change. For the first time, he’d been able to truly be himself - although it took him a while to learn what that even meant - and he’d really liked that. Now he was back in Orlais, once again wearing his mask as he carefully navigated The Game. All he could think of was that this was a horrible way to live. How had he managed it for so long, and how did just a few months away make such a difference?

He was being ridiculous, he told himself. He’d worked hard to get to where he was - the Marquis of Val Firmin and one of Gaspard’s most loyal supporters - there was no way he was just going to throw that all away. Anatole forced himself to focus on the ball. Getting distracted could lead to making a deadly mistake.

The ball ended up not being very exciting. There was an unsuccessful attempt on the life of a baron and the would-be-assassin was quickly caught and executed, but nothing else noteworthy happened. It was a shame; Anatole had hoped the thrill of The Game would help Orlais feel like home again.

As he got into bed that night, his thoughts drifted back to the Inquisition. He was close to so many people there, especially the Chargers. Especially Krem. He hadn't made a big deal out of leaving; he'd simply packed up his things, said goodbye, and left. Krem had asked him to say, even just for a couple more weeks, but he said no. The hurt on Krem's face when he'd said there was no reason for him to stay… it made his heart ache. Thinking about Krem always made his heart ache. He tried to think of the things he didn’t miss about Ferelden: how out of place he’d felt there (Krem was Tevinter, they’d been out of place together); the fact that it really did smell like wet dog (Krem didn’t mind - he said there were a lot of places that smelled much worse, and he liked the dogs)… everything led back to Krem. Maker, he was a fool. A pathetic and lonely fool who didn’t know how to appreciate a good thing until it was gone.

Days passed, and Anatole grew more and more miserable. He’d hoped it would pass, that Orlais would start to feel like his home again, but the ache only grew stronger. He wanted to go back so desperately, but he was afraid. Gaspard sending him there to serve with the Inquisition on behalf of Orlais was one thing - that was an honour - but to go back there willingly when there was no real reason to? That would be scandalous. Everything that didn’t conform to people’s expectations was scandalous. How had that never bothered him before?

Aside from the past few months, he had spent his entire life in Orlais. He had spent his entire life playing The Game and gaining respect. If he left again, he could lose that respect. Was he really prepared to risk throwing everything away just for a man?

Yes, he realised, he was.


	17. Felines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian Hawke picks up a stray kitten.

When Dorian saw the kitten (well, actually, he didn’t see it - he almost tripped over it) he couldn't help himself. It was so small and staring up at him with those big helpless eyes, how could he just leave it? Its white fur was covered in dirt and Dorian wondered how long the poor thing had been wandering around Lowtown by itself.

'Hello there,' he said, picking it up carefully; it was small enough to fit in the palm of one hand. It kicked its legs a little in surprise but soon calmed down again. 'What's your name?'

The kitten meowed unhelpfully.

He looked around, but no one seemed to notice him, no one rushed up to him claiming the kitten was theirs. He assumed that meant he could keep it. Dorian hummed in thought, but naming animals wasn’t his speciality. He’d named his mabari “Ian” simply because he thought it was a hilarious name for a dog to have; his mother hadn’t been impressed. He shook his head. ‘I’m sure Anders will come up with a great name for you.’ Anders would have been horrified with whatever name Dorian came up with and would want to change it anyway.

He cupped the kitten in his hands, glad that it was calm enough that it didn't seem like it was about to try to jump out and run away, and made his way through Lowtown as quickly as possible. He hated the idea of such an innocent creature being alone in such a place. Hightown wasn't all that great, either, but at least the kitten would be safe in the Hawke estate.

'When we get home,' he said, 'I'm going to give you a bath and some food and Anders is going to give you a name and you're going to have the best cat dads ever.' He hoped Ian wouldn't mind there being another pet around the house.

He wished Hightown wasn't so crowded. The market was full of people who were too self-absorbed to even notice he was there, so he had to figure out how to jump out of people's ways without startling the kitten.

It was hard work, but after what felt like hours (but in reality was only about ten minutes) he pushed past the crowds and found himself at the front door of his house.

Balancing the kitten in one hand - which was easy to do with how tiny it was - he pushed open the door. Anders was going to  _ love _ this.


	18. The Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brennus reflects on his time in the Wardens.

Brennus couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure why - he hadn’t had a sleepless night like this in a long time - but no matter what he tried he just couldn’t get his brain to calm down. As always, his thoughts drifted to his time in the Grey Wardens.

When it came to it, leaving the Wardens had been surprisingly easy. Brennus had been proud to be a part of it, once. He’d fought darkspawn, he’d helped to stop the Blight, he’d done so many great things and helped to make the world a better place. They’d changed his life, given him a family when he had none, given him Carver… he would always be grateful for that. After the Inquisition, though, after everything the Wardens had done, he knew he couldn’t stay. He was just glad that Carver had agreed with him. If Carver had wanted to stay, Brennus wasn’t sure what he would have done.

Still, the time he had spent in the Wardens had been good. He'd gone from being a shy and awkward Chantry brother who could only cower behind a shield, to a strong and confident warrior. He was still awkward - he doubted even the Maker Himself could change that - but he'd grown so much as a person in ways he never would have if he'd stayed in the Chantry.

It used to be hard to leave the Wardens. It was pretty rare for people to try and leave, and even rarer that they got away with it, but it did happen. Usually the Wardens would look for them, find them, and bring them back.

Brennus had never understood it. He’d loved the Wardens, and although he knew a lot of people didn't join willingly, it made no sense to him why they would try to run away from an organisation that was doing so much good in the world. He sometimes wondered if they knew something he didn't, some dark secret about the Wardens that made them want to leave. He understood them better, now.

After everything with Corypheus, however, leaving no longer seemed to be an issue. Perhaps it would be different with new recruits, perhaps it was just for those who were there when it happened, but they suddenly allowed anyone to leave if they wished to. Some stayed, determined to rebuild the Wardens into something better, but many left, unable to cope with the knowledge of what the Wardens had become.

However, the truth was that he could never truly be free and that hurt him sometimes. No matter how much he might try to distance himself from the Wardens, the Calling would come for him and for Carver eventually. He wondered if they’d be lucky enough for it to happen at the same time, but he knew that was unlikely. Selfish as it may be, he hoped his Calling would come first. Carver could survive a few years without him, but he knew he couldn’t survive a day without Carver.

He tried not to dwell on it. The Calling was inevitable, and there was nothing he could do to change that; worrying about it only made him miserable. There were rumours of a search for a cure but unless it came very soon it would be too late.

He sighed and rolled onto his side to face Carver. It was strange, he thought, how after all this time he still got the feeling of butterflies in his stomach when he looked at him. They’d been married for just over ten years, and he still swore he fell more and more in love with Carver every day. It was reassuring to watch him sleep, seeing him sleeping calmly with no sign of any nightmares, no sign of the Calling.

Brennus shifted a little closer to Carver. He wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, not with so many thoughts running around his head, but at least he wouldn’t be alone.


	19. Circle Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Brennus's brother Drustan and his time as a Templar in Kinloch Hold.

Drustan was running late. He was supposed to be meeting with Knight-Commander Greagoir but he’d completely lost track of time - that was something that happened far too often. He rushed through the tower, not paying attention to his surroundings as he turned the corner and collided with someone.

The impact knocked the mage to the floor and she scrambled away from him to sit against the wall, watching him carefully. Her red hair was a mess and covered most of her face, but he could still see the fear in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, crouching down next to her. ‘I haven’t seen you before. Are you new here?’

The woman looked at him, eyes wide. Her lip trembled and for a second Drustan was worried she was about to start crying - he was awful with crying people - but she simply nodded and looked at the floor. She was terrified. It was always tough talking to new mages, trying to reassure them that everything was okay, that there was no reason to be afraid. He struggled to believe it himself half the time - he’d heard enough stories about how cruel some of the other Templars could be - and he had no idea how he was supposed to convince someone who had been torn away from their family and locked in a tower that they were going to be alright.

‘My name’s Drustan. What’s yours?’

For a while, she said nothing. He started to wonder if perhaps she was mute and was about to leave to find something for her to write on when she whispered, ‘My name is Elise.’

Her accent took him by surprise. ‘You’re Orlesian?’

She nodded, moving away from him and pulling her knees to her chest as though she hoped if she curled into a tight enough ball, she would simply disappear. ‘We came to Ferelden when I was a child,’ she told him, ‘not long before I showed signs of magic.’ She spat the word “magic” like it disgusted her. Drustan expected he would see her in the Chantry frequently, with the other mages who prayed to the Maker to take their magic away.

He noticed a green ribbon by his foot and picked it up. ‘Is this yours?’

Elise nodded and took the ribbon, using it to tie her hair up. ‘Thank you.’ Now that her hair was out of the way, Drustan could see her face properly. Her first thought was that she was beautiful and he couldn’t help but admire her blue eyes, her full lips, the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. His second thought was that he shouldn’t be thinking of a mage in such a way.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and offered a hand to her, smiling. She flinched but then realised his intentions and took his hand, allowing him to pull her up. ‘Thank you,’ she said again. They stood there for a moment, just staring at each other, before she said, ‘You’re blocking the way.’ There was a hint of a smile on her face and the sight made Drustan’s heart race. He forced himself to ignore it. ‘I need to get to the apprentice quarters.’

‘I’ll walk you there,’ he offered.

‘Oh, I thought you were going that way,’ she said, pointing behind her.

He shrugged. ‘It’s nothing important, it can wait,’ he lied. He would get in a lot of trouble with Greagoir but it would be worth it if it meant he got to know Elise better.

She smiled properly this time. ‘Okay.’

For a while, they walked in silence. It was hard to know what to say to Elise when she was so reluctant to talk. ‘Do you miss Orlais?’ he asked her.

‘Not really. I was young when I left; I barely remember it. I just miss my parents. I hate it here.’

‘But you’ve only just got here!’

‘Yes, and I hate it. This isn’t a home, it’s a prison.’

Drustan frowned. The worst part was that he couldn’t disagree. Elise had been taken to the Circle against her will and was then told she could never leave. How could she see it as anything but a prison? ‘It’s not all bad here,’ he finally said.

She looked at him incredulously. ‘No?’

‘Well, I’m here. You’ve got someone fun to talk to, at least.’ He grinned at her but she just rolled her eyes.

They stopped when they reached the apprentice quarters. ‘Thank you for walking me back,’ she said, ‘and for being nice to me.’

‘Any time. I hope I run into you again, though maybe not quite so literally next time.’

She smiled, shaking her head. ‘I’m sure we’ll see each other again.’ Without another word, she turned and walked away.

He stood there for a few more seconds before realising he was grinning like an idiot. Suddenly remembering that he was running late to see the Knight-Commander was enough to wipe the smile from his face. ‘Shit,’ he whispered to himself before turning and running back the way he came. He was more careful rounding the corners this time, not wanting to knock over any more beautiful mages and delay himself further.

He took a deep breath as he reached Greagoir’s office and pushed the door open.

‘Armat, you’re late,’ Greagoir said before he’d even taken one step through the doorway.

Drustan couldn’t stand the man, but he knew better than to outright disrespect him, so he bit back a retort. ‘I… apologise, Knight-Commander,’ he said, ‘I was trying to help a new mage feel welcome.’

Greagoir frowned. ‘I called you here to talk about your performance and you arrived late. That’s not a good start.

Drustan forced himself not to roll his eyes. He knew he was a good Templar - better than most, in fact. Greagoir’s biggest problem with him was that he was too friendly with the mages. He understood it to an extent; if a mage got possessed or turned to blood magic, it would be a lot easier to fight - maybe even kill - them if they were not his friend. But Drustan trusted himself not to flinch from that duty, no matter how close they might have been. He said nothing, waiting for Greagoir to continue.

‘I’m impressed at how quickly you’ve settled in,’ Greagoir told him.

He couldn’t stop his eyebrows shooting up at that. A compliment was the last thing he was expecting. ‘Thank you, Knight-Commander.’

‘Now, I know you’re still quite new here, and I do think you’ve settled in well, but your attitude towards the mages needs to change. You’re not here to make friends…’ Drustan zoned out. He’d heard the lecture before and he had no doubt he’d hear it again. His job was to protect the mages, not punish them; he saw no reason to change his behaviour.

The lecture finally ended and Drustan was dismissed.

Once he was alone again, he decided to write to his brother. It had been almost a week since his last letter and now he finally had something to talk about! Then again, part of him didn’t want to tell Brennus about Elise. He couldn’t explain why, but he wanted to keep her a secret. He wanted to see where things went with her before he made his brother too excited about it only for it to lead nowhere. He felt like they’d had a connection but he had no idea if she felt the same way. Maybe there was no spark, maybe he just needed to visit a brothel and let off some steam. Instead, his letter to Brennus was filled with his usual complaining about Greagoir.

***

Over a week passed before Drustan saw Elise again. He thought of her more frequently than he cared to admit. He’d asked some of the other Templars about her but most who had encountered her hadn’t been able to have a conversation; she would just watch them, afraid. Drustan supposed he was the exception - there had been no fear in her eyes by the time they’d said goodbye and he’d found her pleasant to talk to. He gave up asking about her after one particularly vile Templar claimed he wanted to “put that Orlesian bitch in her place.” He wasn’t entirely sure what the man had meant but that but he’d reported him to Greagoir immediately, not wanting to take any chances. That was the kind of attitude people developed when they refused to treat mages like people. He wouldn’t let himself become like that.

It took him by surprise when he came across her in a corridor later that same day. He walked straight past her before he realised he recognised that red hair and turned around. ‘Elise!’

She froze and turned slowly, eyes wide, but relaxed when she saw him. ‘Drustan. Hello.’

She was watching him expectantly and he scrambled for something to say but looking at her made his mind go blank. ‘How are you finding it here?’ he finally managed to ask.

‘I hate it,’ she said. A predictable answer. ‘I want to go home.’

He smiled a little sadly at her. ‘I wish I could make that happen.’

‘I’m worried about my parents,’ she admitted, ‘they’ll be in trouble for keeping my magic a secret for so long.’

Drustan couldn’t even begin to imagine what she must have been feeling. ‘They’ll be alright,’ he said, though he had no idea if that was true.

Elise shook her head; she didn’t believe him. ‘It’s so lonely here. No one wants to be friends with an Orlesian.’

‘What about me?’

‘I don’t think you count as a friend; we barely know each other.’

‘I’d like to get to know you better, though. We could be friends.’

She frowned. ‘I was led to believe that wasn’t allowed.’

Drustan shrugged. ‘It’s not, exactly, but I like breaking the rules.’

She chuckled at that. ‘You’re going to be trouble, I can tell.’

‘So that’s a yes?’

Elise laughed. ‘Yes, okay, we can get to know each other. We should probably be more discreet, though… meet me tonight in the library.’

Drustan couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. ‘Great! I’ll see you tonight, Elise.’

The logical part of his brain told him that this was a bad idea, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

***

That night, Drustan sneaked down to the library. It was difficult trying to come up with a convincing excuse in case he was caught wandering around the tower when he should have been sleeping, but thankfully no one saw him. The fact that he was wearing his regular clothes and not his armour helped him stay quiet, too.

Elise stood when she saw him. ‘You came.’

‘Of course I did.’

‘I was just about to leave,’ she admitted, ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’ She sat down again, tense, and Drustan sat next to her.

‘In my defense, all you told me was to meet you here “tonight”. You didn’t specify a time, so, really, that’s on you.’

He could tell she was trying to keep a straight face and stay annoyed at him but she couldn’t stop herself chuckling. ‘Perhaps. I’ll be more specific next time,’ she promised.

‘Oh?’ Drustan grinned, nudging her playfully. ‘You’re already planning to do this again?’

He felt her relax next to him, the tension easing from her shoulders. ‘That’s what friends do, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘Anyway, you wanted to get to know me, so what do you want to know?’

_ Everything _ , Drustan thought. He was pretty sure that would scare her away, though. ‘You said you miss your parents. Do you want to talk about them? What are they like?’

Elise hesitated and he expected her to refuse to answer, but then she nodded. She started simple, telling him about her parents’ names and occupations, but that soon turned into telling him all about her childhood. She told him about growing up in Orlais and how much she loved exploring the markets with her friends. She told him about how excited she had been when they moved to Ferelden when she was just eight years old, only to discover the prejudice against Orlesians that all Fereldens seemed to have. She told him about how she discovered her magic when she accidentally set her mother’s hair on fire. She hadn’t understood at the time why her parents’ attitude towards her suddenly changed after that. They wouldn’t let her go out and play whenever she wanted; they wouldn’t let her leave the house at all unless it was absolutely necessary. She resented them for that for years before she finally understood that they were trying to protect her. It would have made their lives so much easier and less stressful if they had just given her up to the Templars but they didn’t want to lose her.

She was just about to tell him about how the Templars finally caught her when she was cut off mid-sentence by a yawn. ‘Oh my, how late is it? We must have been here for hours.’

Drustan hadn’t noticed the time go by, so enraptured by Elise and hanging onto her every word. He wanted to stay and talk to her more but instead he forced himself to say, ‘We should go and get some sleep while we still can.’

Elise nodded. ‘We should do this again in a couple of days. I like talking to you.’

***

Drustan and Elise continued like that for months, meeting in the library at night and talking for hours. They talked about everything, from how their days had been to childhood memories to politics to their hopes for the future. Drustan never got tired of hearing her talk and he especially never got tired of her laugh. He did everything he could to put a smile on her face.

‘This is the only part I don’t hate,’ Elise said one night as they stood by a window, looking out at the stars.

Drustan glanced around the library. ‘It’s just books, I don’t see what’s so special about it.’

She laughed. ‘Not this room,’ she told him, taking his hand, ‘ _ this _ . Us. You make me forget how terrible it is for a while.’

With his free hand, Drustan brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, moving it behind her ear before cupping her cheek. ‘Elise, you are… the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.’

‘You mean that?’

‘I do.’

She smiled. A genuine smile from Elise was such a rare sight that only Drustan was blessed enough to see. His heart was pounding. Elise squeezed his hand and said, ‘Kiss me.’

The logical part of his brain was screaming at him not to do it. Being friends with the mages was one thing - he could justify that easily - but being romantically involved with a mage was a different matter entirely. Not only was it strictly forbidden, but it was just generally a bad idea. Magic was dangerous and mages were vulnerable to possession. It would only take one slip and Elise would become an abomination. He would be forced to kill her and while that would never be easy, it would be so much harder if they were in a relationship. He was already too involved as it was; the smart thing to do would be to distance himself. Kissing her would be a terrible idea.

He kissed her.

***

The Circle was in chaos. Drustan wasn’t sure what was happening, and no one seemed to be in one place long enough for him to ask. Most of the Templars were heading up to the top of the tower, and as he followed them he overheard talk of blood magic, demons, and abominations.

He stopped following the group as they passed the apprentice quarters, wanting to check on Elise. He was glad he did, because he found her trying to fight off an abomination on her own. Elise hadn't even passed her Harrowing yet; she wasn't trained to deal with this. Even Drustan, who had been training to be a Templar his whole life, felt unprepared.

He rushed forwards and cut down the abomination before returning to Elise. She leaned against a wall. 'What- what was that?'

'An abomination.'

'That… used to be a  _ mage _ ? Oh, Maker…' Elise looked like she was going to be sick; he felt the same.

He took her hand. 'Come on, we have to get out of here.'

She shook her head. 'How? This place isn't exactly built to be easy to escape from.' Still, she didn’t fight him when he started to pull her along, trying to figure out where to go.

They didn’t make it far before they found two demons blocking their path. Drustan drew his sword and a rage demon lunged at him. The desire demon, however, paid no attention to him and instead went straight to Elise.

He tried to focus on the rage demon, knowing he wouldn’t be able to help Elise while it was still attacking him, but it was tough and his attempts to dispel magic were doing little to help him. He glanced at Elise, who was staring at the demon before her, scared and confused. ‘Fight it!’ he told her before turning his attention back to the rage demon.

It took a lot longer than it should have, his panic making it almost impossible to fight, but he eventually managed to defeat the demon. He turned to Elise who was still standing in the same spot as the desire demon circled her, trying to tempt her with Maker-knows-what. ‘Elise, resist it,’ he warned her, but as she looked at him, wide eyes filled with regret, he already knew it was too late. He wondered what the demon had said to her to convince her to give in.

She didn’t break eye contact with him even as she started to change. Elise screamed as her form twisted into something unrecognisable, something horrific.

_ An abomination. _

He looked into its eyes, but there was no sign of Elise in there. The fear and regret that had been in those eyes just seconds before were gone. She was gone.

She -  _ it _ \- advanced towards him, and he didn't hesitate to strike it down.


	20. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athran and Dorian discuss starting a family.

Athran was getting better at doing his hair with one hand, but sometimes he would struggle. This time, he had just wanted to style it into a simple plait but his fingers were struggling to control so much hair and he eventually gave up, frustrated, and let Dorian take over.

Dorian was halfway through the plait when Athran said, ‘What would you think about starting a family?’

Dorian’s hands paused for a moment as he processed the question. ‘A family?’ he asked as he continued with the plait.

‘Yeah, like… children.’

‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ Dorian admitted, ‘is that something you want?’

‘I think so, yeah. I mean, obviously we can’t have children the natural way, but… there’s been a lot of war. A lot of kids who have lost parents.’

Dorian finished plaiting Athran’s hair and planted a soft kiss on his neck. ‘You’d be an incredible father,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know. There’s a lot to consider; I’ll be going back to Tevinter soon.’

Athran sighed. A part of him had hoped that talking about children might convince Dorian to stay, but he kept that thought to himself. ‘Will you at least think about it?’

‘Of course.’

Athran turned to him and smiled. He wasn’t sure when he’d decided he wanted a child, he wasn’t even sure  _ why _ , but it was a thought that wouldn’t leave his mind. He didn’t know if he’d be a good father; Dorian had said he would, but he didn’t really believe that. Athran and responsibility weren’t things that generally went together. Still, if Dorian decided he didn’t want a child, that was okay. Perhaps they could get a pet instead, maybe a cat. Athran tried not to focus on how much the thought upset him. Dorian hadn’t made any decision yet, so there was no point in getting sad about it already.

He pushed Dorian down onto the bed, grinning as he straddled him. ‘Now, I know we can’t actually make our own babies, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still try, right?’

Dorian groaned. ‘Amatus, I love you with all my heart, but that is without a doubt the least sexy way you’ve ever asked for sex.’

Athran laughed and leaned down to kiss Dorian on the lips before moving to trail kisses along his jaw. However, a thought suddenly came to him and he sat up, frowning. ‘Speaking of family... you remember when we got married?’

Dorian couldn't help but chuckle at the seemingly random question. 'Of course I do. Why?'

‘Did- did we actually tell anyone we did that?’

‘I…’ Dorian’s eyes widened, ‘I don’t think we did, no. No wonder everyone was so quiet about it.’

Athran’s head fell onto Dorian’s shoulder as he laughed. ‘We’re idiots. I can’t believe we forgot to tell anyone.’ They had originally planned for an elaborate wedding with hundreds of guests, but Athran had been bored one night and when they couldn’t come up with anything better to do, they made the impulsive decision to get married then. ‘Cassandra’s going to kill us when she finds out.’


	21. Forbidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brennus and Carver discuss Chantry vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly a very loose take on the prompt but it was all I could think of lmao

'You know, my brother has a friend who's in the Chantry,' Carver said.

'Really?' Brennus asked, 'I mean, no offense, but from what you've told me about him he doesn't seem like the religious type.'

Carver chuckled. 'He's not. I don't really get their friendship.' Carver paused, looking like he was trying to figure out what to say, and Brennus was unsure if he was meant to say something. He didn’t know if there was a point to this conversation. After a few seconds, Carver said, ‘Well, when I talked to him, he kind of implied that the Chantry, uh, forbids priests from having sex. Is that true?’

Brennus frowned. The Chantry forbade a lot of things, but he was pretty sure sex wasn’t one of them. ‘I don’t… think so? I don’t really know,’ he said. He had a feeling he knew where the conversation was going now, and he didn’t like it. ‘He might have taken some additional vows of chastity to show his devotion or something, but I don’t think that’s part of the standard vows. But… I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to take mine.’ He almost did, he had been preparing for it, but then the Blight happened and he’d had to flee.

Sometimes he wondered if it would have been different if the Blight had never happened. He would have stayed in the Chantry; he would have stayed in South Reach and never would have met Carver. In that situation he could definitely see himself taking some kind of vow of chastity. Sex had never mattered all that much to him, and he certainly couldn’t imagine wanting to be with anyone other than Carver.

‘Right,’ Carver said, ‘because I thought maybe, if that was true, maybe that’s why you don’t want to have sex.’

Brennus ran a hand through his hair, suppressing a frustrated groan. Why did Carver start the conversation talking about his brother’s friend; why didn’t he just get to the point straight away? It just made things more complicated. Besides, Carver knew that he had never taken any vows, so even if that was true, it wouldn’t have made a difference to Brennus. Talking about sex with Carver was always a little stressful; neither of them were ever quite able to find the right words to say and it led to confusing conversations like this. ‘If it was forbidden for me to have sex, don’t you think I would have mentioned that? I’ve told you before, I  _ do _ want to have sex. Just… not yet.’

‘That’s fine,’ Carver promised quickly, ‘really, it isn’t a problem. I’m just trying to understand why.’

‘Does there have to be a reason? I don’t feel ready, that’s all there is to it. I don’t know, maybe I’m a little nervous -’ actually, he was  _ very _ nervous - ‘but I can assure you it has nothing to do with the Chantry.’

Carver nodded. ‘Alright. I don’t want to pressure you. I just… struggle to understand it.’

Brennus took his hand with a small smile. ‘I know, it’s okay. I’m not asking you to understand it, I’m asking you to be patient.’

‘I can do that,’ Carver promised.


	22. Mounts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anatole and Horsemaster Dennet don't get along.

Anatole was bored. He had expected Skyhold to be exciting, but most of the time it was quite the opposite. Most days, the Inquisitor and many soldiers would be away on dangerous, world-saving missions, leaving everyone left behind at Skyhold to do nothing but… wait.

This was one such day. Anatole had already wandered around the entire fortress twice, and he thought he might lose his mind if he did it again and still nothing even slightly interesting happened.

He didn’t like to think of himself as a troublemaker. In Orlais, he had no problem with stirring up drama if it would give him some kind of political advantage, but causing trouble just for trouble’s sake never really appealed to him. Still, as he approached the stables and saw Horsemaster Dennet, he couldn’t resist having a bit of fun. He and Dennet had never spoken to each other, but he was well aware that the man had typically Ferelden views about Orlesians. He knew it would be a bad idea to antagonise him  _ too _ much, but surely a little light-hearted teasing wouldn’t hurt.

‘So these are the Inquisition's mounts?’ he asked as he walked towards Dennet. The Horsemaster tensed up at his voice and waited a couple of seconds before turning to greet him. Anatole offered him a smile but it was not returned.

‘They are,’ Dennet said, standing up a little straighter, ‘my horses are the best in Ferelden.’

‘If that’s true, I pray for Ferelden.’

Dennet glared at him. 'What, exactly, is wrong with my horses?'

'I wouldn't say anything's  _ wrong _ with them,' Anatole said, far too delighted with Dennet's expression. 'They’re just… small and weak, in comparison to Orlesian horses.'

'Small and weak,' Dennet repeated, 'you’re calling the  _ Inquisition’s _ mounts small and weak?'

'Smaller and weaker,' Anatole corrected. He smiled at Dennet again, as if he'd complimented him. Dennet continued to glower. 'Perhaps I should send a letter home, ask if we can get some proper Orlesian horses here?'

Dennet looked like he was going to explode. 'I think the Ferelden horses are sufficient.'

‘Of course they are, I never said they weren’t. But the Inquisition deserves the best, not just sufficient, wouldn’t you agree?’ When Dennet didn’t reply, he added, ‘Just something to think about.’

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Dennet fuming by the stables. There were few things in life more fun than irritating Fereldens, he decided.


	23. The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition comes to the Winter Palace and Anatole seeks an alliance.

Anatole was looking forward to the ball. He always looked forward to them, but this time he was particularly excited because he had no idea what to expect. All he knew was that the Inquisition would be there, meaning something serious was happening. It must have been to do with the peace talks, but he couldn’t imagine why the Inquisition would involve themselves in such a thing when they were busy trying to fix the hole in the sky.

There were rumours that the Inquisitor was an elf, but he struggled to believe it. It seemed unlikely that Andraste would choose an elf as her Herald, especially a Dalish one who doesn't even believe in the Maker. He couldn't wait to find out if the rumours were true.

***

The Inquisitor was announced, and it turned out she really was an elf. That was a surprise. If nothing else, it would be entertaining to watch everyone struggle as they tried to treat an elf with respect.

He kept an eye on Inquisitor Lavellan throughout the ball, waiting for any opportunity to talk to her. By attending Celene’s ball, by showing up in public to support Gaspard, he was putting himself in danger. It was vital that he was seen spending time with the Inquisitor and her companions. Discussion of a formal alliance could come later, for now he just needed people to  _ think _ he was close with the Inquisition. It wouldn’t offer him much protection, he knew, but it would at least buy him time to formulate a proper plan.

Everyone else also wanted to be seen with the Inquisitor, however; she was constantly surrounded by nobles and she seemed to be growing more and more stressed. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for her to be thrown into The Game like that with little time to prepare. A part of him felt sorry for her.

A couple of hours passed before he finally got his chance. ‘Inquisitor, could I have a word?’ he asked as she passed him.

She turned to him, still looking just as stressed as before even though nowhere near as many people were bothering her. ‘Of course,’ she said, managing a smile, doing her best to remain composed.

He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘I was hoping to discuss the possibility of an alliance. I’m the Comte of Val Firmin, you see, and I believe it is something we could both benefit from.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I… I’m not really the best person to ask. Josephine usually handles the political side of things.’ She scanned the room and frowned. ‘I’m sure she’s around here somewhere… come with me.’

She started walking across the room, and Anatole had no choice but to follow. She led him to a man who stood somewhat awkwardly at the side of the room. Judging from his outfit, he was also with the Inquisition. Anatole didn’t understand why they were all wearing matching outfits, or why they couldn’t choose something a little more appealing. Were they trying to stand out? The lack of masks already made it clear who they were. Perhaps that was what was considered fashionable in Ferelden, he thought, suppressing a shudder.

‘Cullen,’ the Inquisitor said, ‘this is… uh, the Comte of… somewhere…’ she made a point of not looking at Anatole, no doubt embarrassed that she’d already forgotten. He didn’t blame her, though; she must have had to take in so much information already. This was far from her comfort zone. ‘He wanted to discuss an alliance but I couldn’t see Josephine, and I don’t have time to look for her right now, so I thought I’d leave him with you. Is that okay?’ It wasn’t going at all how Anatole had hoped, but he supposed there were worse things than being left in the company of an attractive man.

‘Of course,’ Cullen started to say, but the Inquisitor was already walking away. He turned to Anatole. ‘Sorry, what did she say your name was?’

‘She didn’t,’ Anatole said. He held out a hand and Cullen shook it. ‘Comte Anatole Delacroix of Val Firmin.’

Cullen nodded. ‘Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition's forces.’

Although it wasn’t what he’d set out to do, Anatole could see the benefit of having someone like Cullen on his side. The protection of the Inquisition’s forces was promising. ‘How are you enjoying the ball?’ he asked, ‘I imagine it's quite different from anything in Ferelden.’

‘Very different,’ Cullen agreed. Aside from shaking Anatole’s hand, he had barely moved. He looked tense and uncomfortable. Was it simply the unfamiliar environment, or was he expecting something to happen? Or perhaps the man simply didn’t know how to relax. Anatole knew far too many soldiers like that. 'This must be normal for you, then? All this politics and scheming?'

Anatole nodded. 'I've been playing The Game my whole life; this is all I know.'

'That's…' Cullen began, but then he shook his head.

'What?'

'Well, it just seems sad. Having to plan out your every move, not getting a chance to be yourself.'

Anatole shook his head. 'It's necessary.' Honestly, it was something he tried not to think about. He sighed and looked at Cullen. 'Would you care to dance, Commander?' He needed the distraction.

Cullen shifted awkwardly. 'Ah - I would, but the Inquisitor might need me at any moment. Perhaps later?’

‘Of course,’ Anatole smiled, ‘I understand. But if you decide to let yourself relax for two minutes, come and find me.’ With that, he turned and walked away. He really did need to see if he could find Josephine.


	24. The Night Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athran and Solas stargaze together.

Athran couldn’t take his eyes off the stars. The sky was clear for once, not a cloud in sight, meaning he was able to truly appreciate the beauty of the night. He sat on the grass, staring up at the night sky, taking it all in. He was in the centre of the camp they’d set up; he could hear everyone else getting ready to go to sleep or keep watch. If they were lucky and could avoid getting into any fights, they’d reach Skyhold within the next couple of days. Luck wasn’t usually on his side, however. It could take up to a whole week to get back. He tried not to think about that.

‘Are you coming to bed?’ Solas asked.

Athran nodded. The action made his neck hurt; he’d been looking up for too long. ‘I will soon,’ he said, lying down on the ground. He’d probably end up covered in mud, but he didn’t mind if it meant he could stay there a little longer.

He didn’t notice Solas walk away, but he noticed him come back with a blanket in his hands. Solas lay down next to him and draped the blanket over them. Athran smiled and shifted closer to him.

‘Since when have you been interested in stargazing?’ Solas asked. His tone wasn’t mocking; he was genuinely curious.

‘I used to watch the stars with my sisters,’ he said, realising in that moment just how much he missed them. He didn’t miss the rest of his clan, but it felt strange to sit on the grass like this without Selana or Adriani by his side. ‘And before we left, Dorian and I had been reading about constellations.’

‘Ah.’

Dorian hadn’t come along on this mission, and although they’d only been gone for just over a week, Athran missed him more than he could put into words. It made him feel pathetic, but at least he knew Solas understood; he didn’t show it as much, but Athran knew Solas was missing Dorian too.

Athran wasn’t sure where his sudden interest in constellations had come from, but Dorian was quick to find a book all about them so that they could read it together. They read it in bed, cuddled together under the sheets. Dorian always finished reading the page long before Athran did, but he showed no sign of impatience while he waited for Athran to catch up; he was happy to wait until Athran took his hand and they would turn the page together. Before Dorian, Athran hadn’t realised the simple act of reading a book could feel so intimate.

It made his heart ache to think about it, even though he knew he’d see Dorian again in just a few days. He felt pathetic, but he also felt guilty, in a way. Soolas was lying right next to him and all he could think about was missing Dorian. He was happy that Solas was there, of course, but he supposed looking up at the stars with Solas felt… wrong, somehow. It was supposed to be his and Dorian’s thing. By sharing the moment with Solas, it almost felt as though he was betraying Dorian, even though he knew that Dorian would have been more than happy for Solas to be a part of it too.

‘It’s okay,’ Solas said quietly, shifting so that he was leaning over Athran, in a good position to run his hands through Athran’s hair, bringing him out of his head and back to reality.

Athran closed his eyes, relaxing under Solas’s touch, and took a deep breath before nodding. ‘I’m okay,’ he said, more glad than ever that Solas was there. Solas was always there, always able to recognise the slightest change in emotion and pull Athran back from it.

Solas smiled, continuing to play with Athran’s hair for a moment before returning to his position on the ground next to him. ‘Why don’t you tell me some of the constellations you’ve been reading about?’ he suggested.

Athran nodded, studying the sky for a few seconds before pointing up at a cluster of stars. ‘That’s… Satinalis,’ he said, tracing the constellation with his finger. He frowned, thinking. ‘Or is it Bellitanus? I can never remember which is which.’ Solas knew the answer, he was sure, but he was glad that for once Solas decided not to show off his knowledge. He wondered how much effort it was taking him to keep quiet. Most of the time, learning from Solas was a fascinating experience, but this was supposed to be Athran’s moment to share what he knew, and being corrected by Solas would just embarrass him.

He couldn’t decide which constellation it was, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He was certain it was one of the two he’d named; he could look it up when he got back to Skyhold. Instead, he turned his focus to another constellation, one that he definitely knew. ‘That one’s Draconis. Dorian likes that one; I think it reminds him of home.’ He sighed and looked over at solas. ‘Do you ever miss your home?’ he asked.

Solas kept his eyes on the stars. ‘I do,’ he said, ‘I miss it a great deal.’ Without looking he reached out and found Athran’s hand. ‘What about you?’

Athran frowned as he thought about it. He’d never really had an exact home with how much his clan moved about. He certainly didn’t miss his clan, but he did miss his sisters. He’d received a letter from Selana a couple of weeks ago, saying she wanted to come and visit him at Skyhold. He hoped she would, it would be so good to see her again.

‘I don’t think so,’ he finally said. ‘For me, home is wherever I am. So right now, home is here. Under the stars with you.’

‘So romantic,’ Solas teased.

Athran laughed. ‘Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.’ It was a big deal for him to say something that affectionate, and Solas knew that, but he was glad when Solas didn’t make a big deal out of it. It was so much easier to just laugh it off.

For a while, they continued to lie there together, looking up at the stars, enjoying the silence and each other’s presence. Eventually, Solas said, ‘We should go to bed soon,’ but when he glanced over, he saw that Athran was already asleep.

Smiling, Solas stood. He was careful as he picked Athran up, not wanting to wake him even though Athran could sleep through almost anything. He glanced up at the stars one more time - his eyes lingering on the Draconis and his thoughts lingering on Dorian, waiting for them back at Skyhold - before carrying Athran into their tent.


	25. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athran shows Dorian that cold isn't always bad.

'Remind me again why I'm here?' Dorian said, not for the first time, as the party explored Emprise du Lion.

Athran sighed. 'Because Cullen needs us to get information about the red lyrium mining.'

'Yes, I know that,' Dorian said, 'but why, specifically, did you decide to bring  _ me _ here, knowing I detest the cold?'

'I'm sure we'll come up with some ways to warm you up later,' Athran grinned. ‘Come on, stop being so miserable. Snow is meant to be fun!’

Dorian was just starting to ask how, exactly, he was supposed to have fun when he was freezing his fingers off, when he was hit in the chest by a lump of snow. He glared at Athran. ‘What was that for?’

Athran couldn’t help but laugh at Dorian’s expression. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never had a snowball fight before. Throw one back at me!’

Dorian seemed uncertain but he knew Athran wasn’t going to leave him alone until he finally did it. ‘Alright,’ he agreed, bending down to scoop up a small handful of snow, trying not to show his disgust as the cold seeped through his gloves. He didn’t understand how this was supposed to be fun, but he was willing to try if it was something Athran enjoyed.

Dorian threw the snowball and Athran dodged out of the way with ease. ‘You’ll have to try harder than that!’ he said. As he bent down to make another snowball, Dorian threw a second one, this time hitting him on the back. He gasped as some of the snow hit his neck and ran down the inside of his armour.

‘Ha!’ Dorian cried before taking a moment to process the fact that he apparently was, in fact, having fun in the snow.

‘Alright, you’re on,’ Athran said, quickly building a small pile of snowballs. ‘We’ll keep going until one of us surrenders.’

Athran had expected Dorian to give up pretty quickly, given his hatred for the cold, but apparently Dorian was determined to win. Half an hour later, they were still throwing snowballs at each other, screaming and laughing as they tried to dodge out of the way.

They paused at the sound of Solas emerging from a tent, no doubt annoyed that his rest had been interrupted. Athran looked at Dorian, a wide grin spread across his face, and Dorian nodded. They each picked up a snowball and, at the same time, threw them at Solas.


	26. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brennus and Carver talk about their very different childhoods

One night, as they cuddled together in bed, Carver asked Brennus for a fun childhood story.

Brennus smiled as the memory came to him. ‘There was one time, when I was seven, and Drustan convinced me to climb up onto the roof of the Chantry with him. I don’t know why he suddenly wanted to do that but he wouldn’t shut up about it until I agreed. We had to wait until our parents were asleep so we could sneak out. I remember it was so dark, and it was cloudy so there weren’t even any stars. I was terrified. Then when we got closer to the Chantry, we had to try to hide from the Templars, although I’m still certain Ser Dominik saw us coming.’

‘How did you get onto the roof?’

‘We didn’t. I was so scared we were going to get in trouble or get hurt that I begged Drustan to let us just go home instead.’ Until that moment, Brennus had never considered his childhood to be particularly boring. He frowned. ‘I guess that’s not a particularly good story, is it?’

Carver chuckled. ‘It’s a fun memory for you, that’s what matters.’

He tried to think of something else he could tell Carver, but he was struggling. There were small exciting moments, like Drustan starting his Templar training, Brennus deciding to become a scholar… but nothing he could make a story out of.

Carver’s childhood sounded much more exciting, with them constantly on the run in order to protect the mages in the family, but Brennus didn’t envy him. Spending half of his childhood in the Chantry might not have been particularly fun, but at least it was safe.

'Thank you for sharing that with me,' Carver said.

'You’re thanking me for showing you how boring I am?'

'You're not boring,' Carver said, and Brennus was sure if he turned around he'd see Carver rolling his eyes. 'You’re just… cautious. Bethany was the same. Whenever my brother and I were off getting into trouble, she wanted no part in it.'

‘But she was a mage,’ Brennus pointed out, ‘she had a good reason to be cautious.’

‘And you were an innocent little Chantry boy who found comfort in following the rules. That doesn’t make you boring and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

Brennus smiled. ‘I guess I haven’t changed much, have I?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Carver said, ‘there’s plenty of time for me to turn you into a rebel.’


	27. On the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian Hawke and Anders make plans to leave Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my AU world state where Dorian isn't Champion and Anders is alive

'I can't believe you did that,' Dorian said as he followed Anders into the Hawke estate. Anders didn't reply so Dorian continued, 'You blew up the _Chantry_ . What the _fuck_ were you thinking?'

He expected Anders to snap at him, to tell him that he would never understand, but Anders just sighed, looking more tired than Dorian had ever seen him. They stood in the doorway to Dorian’s bedroom, staring at each other, waiting for the other to say something. They both stayed silent.

Eventually, Anders turned away and started to gather up his things.

'What are you doing?' Dorian asked.

'Packing. I have to leave Kirkwall.'

'Alright. Where are we going?'

Anders frowned at him. 'What?'

'I assume you’re not just leaving, you must have some kind of plan.'

'Yes, but… "we"?'

Dorian nodded. 'I'm coming with you, obviously.'

Anders took his time considering that. 'I didn't think… after what I did, I thought… well, I expected you wouldn't want to see me again,' he admitted.

'Oh, I'm still _very_ angry,' Dorian assured him, 'I'm sure we'll have plenty of arguments about this. But I'm not about to give up on you now.' He wouldn't pretend to be okay with what happened, and he didn't think any amount of explanation could ever make him truly understand it, but he at least understood that Anders thought it was necessary. After everything Anders had been through - after everything _all_ the mages of Kirkwall had been through - he could understand why Anders had come to that conclusion. Still, Dorian was _pissed_ , and he wasn't about to let Anders forget it.

He started to grab his own things, throwing them haphazardly into a bag.

Anders still seemed uncertain. 'I can't ask you to give everything up for me,' he said, 'you have a life here.'

Dorian shook his head. 'What's the point of having a life here if I can't share it with you? Besides, I've been wanting to get out of Kirkwall for years, now I finally have an excuse.'

'Are you sure this is what you want? If we leave, I doubt we'll ever be able to return.'

'Never coming back to Kirkwall sounds like a dream come true, actually,' Dorian told him with a grin, 'so yes, I'm sure. It'll be fun being on the run together, don't you think?'

Anders's expression made it clear that he _didn't_ think it would be fun at all, but he didn't argue. In fact, he even managed a small smile. 'Alright. I guess we're doing this, then.'

Dorian kissed him. 'I guess we are.'


	28. The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian Hawke prepares to sacrifice his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set in my canon world state where Dorian is Champion and his life just really really sucks

It seemed fitting, Dorian thought, that he would die like this, sacrificing himself in order to save Thedas. He would have preferred to be killed by something less fucked-up looking than the nightmare demon - he would've liked something nicer to look at - but he supposed beggars can't be choosers. It would be a meaningful sacrifice, a proper hero's death, and he would finally have peace.

He thought that death would scare him more, with the creature being a nightmare demon, but he was surprisingly calm as he considered it. He took comfort in the knowledge that no one would miss him.

Perhaps it would have been different if Anders was alive, perhaps he wouldn't be so willing to sacrifice his life if he knew his lover was waiting for him to return. But Anders was dead, killed by Dorian’s own blade. He’d tried to justify it to himself so many times, but the truth was he had panicked. He had been struggling to process everything that had just happened, and he was scared and confused, and he was trying to figure out what his responsibilities as Champion required him to do, and Anders was  _ begging  _ him to kill him, so he did. He regretted it instantly but by then, of course, it was too late.

He supposed Carver might miss him, but probably not too much. Carver had always wanted his own life, to be out of his brother's shadow. Now Dorian would be out of his way completely. He imagined Carver wouldn't be too happy with him, though, sacrificing himself. Another impossible standard for Carver to live up to, another insecurity that would be Dorian’s fault.

Kiera was off with Isabela somewhere, playing at being a pirate. They had been so eager to get away from everything - from  _ him _ . He had no doubt they were much happier now than they ever were in Kirkwall. He wasn't sure how news of his death would even reach them but he was sure they wouldn't miss him. One less family member to be a burden.

His other friends… well, they'd all fucked off somewhere, hadn't they? They'd all left him. Merrill, Fenris, Aveline, Sebastian... Sebastian, who had encouraged him to kill Anders, and then had disappeared back to Starkhaven like some fucking coward. Good riddance.

There was Varric, of course. Varric was the only one he could think of who might actually be upset to see Dorian gone. But, oh, what a story this would make. The tragic and heroic death of Dorian Hawke, the perfect ending for the Champion of Kirkwall. It would be a bestseller. Really, he was doing Varric a favour.

He wouldn't be missed, Dorian decided. Not by anyone who mattered.

He was ready. In a way, he was looking forward to it, to it all finally being over.

Dorian had been so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't even realise the Inquisitor grabbing his arm and dragging him. He looked behind him in confusion and saw Stroud running towards the nightmare demon, sword raised.

'No-' was all Dorian managed to say before he was pulled through the Fade rift.

He collapsed on the ground, paying no attention to Varric approaching him, and he sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is a rogue but Carver is alive anyway because it's MY world state and I make the rules


	29. Quality Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawke brothers spend some time together.

The last person Dorian had expected to see when he opened the door was Carver. They exchanged letters occasionally, but it had been years since they'd last seen each other in person. By the time Carver had joined the Inquisition, Dorian had already left, shocked and confused that he was still alive after his ordeal in the Fade.

He spent the next few months in Kirkwall, helping to rebuild. He gave coin and physical labour wherever it was needed and slowly, Kirkwall was returning to what it used to be. It was the least he could do, considering his role in everything.

'Not that I'm not thrilled to see you,' Dorian said to his brother, 'but what are you doing here?'

'I came to check up on you,' Carver said, making his way into the house without waiting for an invitation.

'Check up on me? I'm not a child.'

'I know,' Carver said, much more kindly than Dorian had expected, 'you’re an adult who's been through hell and you were upset that you  _ didn't  _ die. That's… honestly, I would have come sooner if I could.'

Dorian shrugged it off. 'The Inquisition’s kept you busy, I get it,' he said, making a mental note to ask Varric to  not  tell his siblings concerning things about him. 'I'm okay. Really.'

Carver didn’t seem convinced. ‘You know if you need to talk about anything, I’m here for you, right?’

‘You?’ Dorian had to force himself not to laugh at that. ‘No offense, but I don’t think big emotional conversations are exactly your strong point.’

‘They’re not yours, either,’ Carver pointed out, ‘but I’m sure between the two of us we can figure it out.’

It hit Dorian in that moment just how much Carver had changed. When they’d first come to Kirkwall all those years ago, it was almost impossible to have a conversation with Carver without someone getting annoyed and voices being raised. Carver would lash out, saying things he didn’t mean just because he knew it would hurt. Now, Carver was calmly suggesting they talk about feelings together. Dorian supposed his baby brother wasn’t such a baby anymore. He grinned. ‘Look at you being all grown up and sensible. It sounds like being in love has been good for you.’

‘Shut up,’ Carver said, but he was smiling.

‘Where is Brennus, anyway? I thought you two were inseparable these days.’

‘He insisted I come here alone; he didn’t want to get in the way of us spending time together,’ Carver explained, ‘I left him with Varric, meaning he's probably discovering the joys of the Hanged Man right now.’

Dorian nodded, still finding it hard to believe that Carver was really there, that he had actually come all this way just to check in on his older brother. It was a weird feeling, and he hated knowing he had worried people so much, especially when he was trying so hard to be better. ‘I appreciate it,’ he said.

Carver smiled. 'There's another reason I came, too. Me and Brennus are getting married, and it would mean a lot if you were there.'

It took a moment for Dorian to recognise the emotion he was feeling was happiness. He hadn't felt such genuine joy in a long time and he'd grown so used to faking it that he'd forgotten what it really felt like. 'That's amazing!' he said, pulling Carver into a tight hug. 'Of course I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it.'

'You would have missed it if you'd thrown your life away,' Carver reminded him.

Dorian sighed. 'I know. If it helps, I promise not to heroically sacrifice myself to save Thedas before your wedding.'

'Knowing you, you'll do it  _ during _ the wedding just for the attention.'

Dorian threw his head back as he laughed. 'That does sound like something I'd do,' he agreed. 'Come on, I'll make us lunch and we can catch up properly.'


	30. Complaints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair tries to convince Astyth that the surface isn't completely terrible.

‘I hate it here,’ Astyth said.

‘You know,’ Alistair said, ‘I think you might have mentioned that once or twice.’

Astyth rolled her eyes but she knew Alistair had a point; she’d done pretty much nothing but complain ever since she came to the surface. She looked up at the sky for a few seconds, but there was so much of it that it made her feel sick so she looked away again, shaking her head. ‘I just don’t know how you can stand it.’

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Alistair said, although they both knew he had no idea if that was true. ‘Besides, I know for a fact you don’t completely hate the surface.’

‘No, I assure you, I do.’

‘Oh? You expect me to believe that look of awe on your face when we reached Redcliffe was actually meant to be, what, disgust?’

Astyth was glad it was so dark so that Alistair couldn’t see her blush. It was true that she’d been fascinated by Redcliffe. She’d never seen anything like it in Orzammar, only pictures, and they didn’t do it justice. It was incredible, houses everywhere and a huge Chantry, and that  _ windmill _ ! She couldn’t not be amazed. ‘I guess aside from the undead, Redcliffe was… not terrible,’ she admitted, ‘but the surface as a whole is still awful. It’s just big and cold and there’s way too much sky.’

Alistair just laughed. ‘Come on, there must be something you like.’

Her first instinct was to simply say no, there was nothing, but instead she actually thought about it. ‘I suppose some of the people here are alright.’

‘I really hope I’m included in that.’

She chuckled. ‘You are. When I first got to the surface, it felt like everyone treated me differently for being a dwarf, but then I met you and the first thing you did was ask me if I was a mage. That was… well, I wondered if you had any brains at all, but I appreciated it.'

Alistair smiled. 'See? It's not all bad here.'

Astyth didn't reply. Instead, she looked up at the sky again, wondering just how many stars there were. Sometimes it felt like she could reach up and touch them, but then she remembered just how terrifyingly far away the sky really was. She shuddered. That was something she knew she would never get used to, even if she was on the surface for the rest of her life. Maker, she hoped she wouldn't be.


	31. After Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiera Hawke and Isabela talk about their future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiera is agender and uses they/them pronouns.

Kiera leaned over the side of the ship, closing their eyes as the wind hit their face, and breathed in the sea air. It wasn't a particularly pleasant scent, but it was one they'd quickly grown used to and had begun to associate with home. Besides, the sea was always a welcome smell after spending a night in a cheap tavern with cheaper alcohol.

Kiera and Isabela spent quite a lot of time off the ship, docking at various ports and drinking at various taverns, but Kiera always thought the best part was stepping back on the ship again. The feeling of the deck under their feet was comforting.

They hadn't been sure, at first, if it was a life they would really enjoy. It was so different to anything in Kirkwall. Kiera had agreed to it so they could remain at Isabela's side, but they soon discovered there was something freeing about living on a ship, being able to go wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted.

'You look thoughtful,' Isabela said, joining them in leaning on the side.

Kiera opened their eyes and smiled at her. 'I was just thinking about how much I love this life. I wish we could do this forever.'

'Who says we can't?'

'We'll get too old for it, one day. We'll have to give it up and settle down.'

Isabela pulled a face. 'Don't remind me,' she said, 'I'll have to die in some glorious battle just to avoid getting old.'

Kiera chuckled. 'Well, that would really ruin my plans to spend the rest of my life with you.'

'You're such a romantic,' Isabela said, leaning in to kiss them. 'But, you know, even if we do get too old for the fighting and the looting, there's no reason we have to stop living on the ship, is there?'

'I suppose not,' Kiera agreed. They hadn't really considered the possibility of spending the rest of their life at sea. They loved it, but they'd always assumed it had been temporary. Then again, they'd once thought the same thing about their relationship with Isabela, but that didn't look like it would be ending any time soon.

Isabela must have noticed them getting lost in thought, because she asked, 'Is that something you would want?'

Kiera smiled. 'Honestly? I don't mind if we’re at sea or on land. As long as I'm by your side, I'm happy.'

Isabela rolled her eyes, smiling. 'Such a romantic,' she said again, but Kiera knew she felt the same way.


End file.
